


Single Handedly

by i_luv_obiwan91



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Work In Progress, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 88,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_luv_obiwan91/pseuds/i_luv_obiwan91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An elleth of Doriath is violently wounded and taken in by the sons of Feanor, risking confrontation between the Sindarin King Thingol and the "kin-slaying" Noldor should her kin find out. Though peace-seeking Maedhros tries to return the elf maiden, he finds that between her unwillingness to leave and his own draw to her, he cannot let her go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Wonder How You Can Endure

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork for my Stories...  
> http://iluvobiwan91.deviantart.com/gallery/1558228

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s):** 1/?

 **Chapter Summary:** “ _She does not deserve such a horrendous end; she deserves no end at all._ ”

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. ಠ_ಠ

 

Her rides out of Menegroth and away from her family had grown longer in both distance and duration in the last few decades, and she felt she enjoyed it more than much of anything else in her several short centuries of life. It was not so much the solitude of her and her horse as it was the freedom to hunt her own game and tend her own life without the walls of Menegroth, as beautiful as the caves were, towering above her. Trees were far more to Mîrluiniel’s liking when it came to anything towering over her head. Free-roaming brooks and streams below her, the self-sufficiency of keeping her own horse and wearing leather garments sewn of her own catch. It satisfied her.

She would laugh when she remembered her second brother’s hurried reasons to keep her in Doriath with them. ‘ _Luin_ ,’ Celeborn had pleaded with her. ‘ _There are trees and streams enough here to satisfy every elf in Arda! Why must you crave something so dangerous?_’

Yet _now_ Mîrluiniel wished she had one of her brothers at her side as she sprinted through the foreboding trees of Nan Elmoth for her life. Wolves farther west than she’d thought to be prepared for had sprung upon her horse that morning as she washed her clothes some distance away, renting the poor creature to pieces before they charged after her in their starved madness. A slow drizzle made her normally surefooted stride catch in some slippy mud on the path and only the slightest trip gave her rabid pursuers the lead they needed to pounce.

She turned around on her back just as the first wolf leapt up and latched its open maw onto the left hand she’d raised in defense. With a hasty prayer, she shrieked in surprised horror as two more wild dogs came down on her with every ounce of power they possessed, crushing the air from her lungs and some ribs judging by the crack and sharp pain in her breast. They jerked on her mercilessly and clawed, biting at the thick hide of her deerskin trousers and ripping the pelt at its seems as they tried to tear the tender flesh of her thighs until her frantic kicks finally bashed them away.

She punched and lashed out with all of her might at all three of them, but to the leader with the vice of sharp teeth sunken into her arm, it served only to tighten and add strength to his dreadful clamp on her. “ _Help_! Help me!” Mîrluiniel screamed between cries of pain, yet she knew no answer would return to her. Not when she was so far from Doriath, and on the southern side of the Celon, no less. She cried more with despair once it came to her that she would be killed and eaten, away from home and family… she would die alone.

Her legs stopped their onslaught against the two younger wolves in exhausted defeat, and with a brief spat with each other-- no doubt over which of them could be the first at her throat-- they sprung upon her with a new, raw energy. One took hold of her left side from below the arm and the other moved toward her head with its foaming mouth when suddenly another beast lunged and took him by the neck.

This new creature was no wolf but a hound, and the greatest in size she had ever seen, like to a seasoned buck in height. At first glance she was afraid that an even larger enemy was simply fighting over who could consume the majority of her body; but this massive dog only held death in his eyes for her attackers and he seemed an animal trained to obey his owner before aught else.

“Huan!” An elf’s voice came upon her desperate ears and, wearily, she struggled against the two starving wolves that still held to her body. Their leader, who had not released her bloody arm up to that point, let loose momentarily to growl and bark at the new come elf she assumed stayed behind her sight. An arrow shot into the sallow creature’s shoulder, yet it only served to anger it and he bit down on her unmoved arm even higher and with a fresh vigor that jerked her entire frame with agonizing motions. “Huan! _Remove_ , attack these!” The edhel mounted on a nervous horse commanded his hound to disregard his now defeated prey and move on to help the elleth in two death grips. Another arrow was shot into the second wolf’s neck and it released its meat to fall heavy and limp atop her broken bones.

The great dog, Huan, quickly moved to take the remaining wolf down and clamped his large jaws on the neck of its opponent. But the wolf’s grip was strong and with every push and pull the dog made on him, it dragged Mîrluiniel’s body with it, promising to tear her shoulder clear from its socket.

At length, and with two more arrows shot into the beast’s gaunt neck, Huan dragged the dying creature away from her and the elf was by her side in but a moment. He pulled the wolf carcass from her chest and Mîrluiniel took in a ragged breath, the adrenaline that had previously numbed her from some small amount of pain quickly drained and a wave of nausea overcame her with such loss of blood. “Lie still, lass. You’ll do well to let me take care of you.” With a weak nod, she agreed and struggled greatly just to inhale without stressing her broken ribs and the massive wounds on her left side. The elf was learned in his movements as he took his cloak quickly to pieces, beginning to wrap her flesh wounds and she thanked Illúvatar that he and his hound had come when they did.

She cried out when he moved her shredded arm to lie against her chest in a sling, then again as he lifted her from the ground and placed her atop his steed. The horse was antsy about its new passenger but with only a few calming words from its master, instantly quieted and allowed her on easily enough. Mîrluiniel tried to sit upright but only gave herself more pain in the process and hunched over the poor animal under her in defeat. The edhel mounted up behind his elleth charge and put his arm around her waist to keep her from falling, letting out a whistle for Huan before he nudged the horse into an agile gallop through the close trees.

Pulling Mîrluiniel against him in the saddle, he let her rest her head on his shoulder, controlling his body’s movements as best he could so it wouldn’t jar her overmuch. It would be at least a few hours’ ride back to his dwelling in Himlad on the northern side of the river. He prayed her bleeding would soon ebb; else there was little chance she’d make it outside of an hour, if that. Eru _knew_ he had seen more blood spilt in his lifetime than anyone ever should, he would not let this elleth fade if he could help it.

 

They continued swiftly through the forest and crossed the river as late summer rain clouds threatened to pour forth their contents. Mîrluiniel had grown alarmingly pale and her rescuer knew there was little, if any, time left to close her wounds and save the majority of her blood.

Huan ran ahead into his master’s great encampment and alerted the elves to the urgency of their coming. Ignoring all calls of inquiry but from a certain two who shared the same anxious look that stained his own expression as they saw the bloody she-elf in his grasp, the edhel rode through till he reached his tent and then dismounted. The two he had acknowledged at his arrival followed him quickly as he carried her into his chambers and laid the battered and unconscious elleth on his mattress.

“Celegorm, what’s happened?” The tallest of them inquired of his brother as he came to the end of the bed.

The maiden’s rescuer simply looked to the younger of the brothers and hastily gave instruction. “Curufin, run and fetch hot water, clean cloth, and stitching for her.” With a nod to his elder sibling, the light brown-haired elf ran out of the tent with his orders.

The oldest, Maedhros, came close and asked him again with a glance to the she-elf in question. “My brother, what _happened_ to her?”

Celegorm looked up to him after a moment and handed him the cloak fragments he just unwrapped from her shoulder and arm. “Huan ran ahead of me barking on the hunt, though what he pursued, I knew not. Nor did I understand the reason for his haste until I saw for myself. When I came upon her, there were two wolves with her in their mouths while Huan, bless him, held off another that surely would have killed her the moment we arrived.”

He nodded as his brother told him the truth and the eldest grit his teeth when the pieces of the elleth’s left arm were revealed from their cover of broken fabric. “How long has she been thus?”

“Three hours, at least. By Eru’s grace she’s only just alive.”

Curufin, their father’s fifth son, then re-entered with the things asked for, including a much-needed basket of pain-dulling herbs. “Shall I help you, Cel? You’ll need my needle-skills, that’s certain.” The younger edhel offered and was gladly accepted as Celegorm began to lay her arm on the mattress in relatively coherent placement.

Mîrluiniel opened her eyes briefly at the pain of movement but only managed a quiet moan when the eldest touched her brow. “Do we know who she is? Her name?” Maedhros asked his blonde brother while he continued to clean her shoulder efficiently.

The younger shook his head. “I’m afraid she was too weak to speak, let alone tell me. And I found it not to be of great import at the time.”

Maedhros gazed long on the poor elleth and tried to guess her homeland. Her fair hair was nearly white in hue, where blood did not smear the curls, and light blue eyes when she revealed them for an unconscious moment; all attributes which certainly hinted at a Sindarin bloodline. ‘What could she have been doing alone?’ He wondered to himself, knowing full well that if he had, himself, been blessed with a sister she would never have left his care without a brother or escort to accompany her. ‘Yet even Aredhel became lost in your care…’ His thoughts scolded him, and he turned away from his brothers and their new female charge.“ Send for me if she worsens.” He called behind him as he left the tent and walked out into the steady rain that the sky now cast down upon the land.

Once he looked up, it felt cleansing to wash over such a troubled expression like the one upon his angled face, yet in his right arm he could feel a tense pressure cause him pain there where hand would be connected to wrist. Ever since his dread-filled rescue from Thangorodrim, the stump of an arm he claimed as his right appendage would flush and throb with a stabbing pain when much moisture came to it. He laughed bitterly to think that Ulmo delighted in this way of torturing him for the heinous acts he’d committed in his life.

He deserved it, he knew, for all the terrible things that he’d done. Only on this day did the physical pain seem to cause less discomfort. Huan sat just inside the cover flap of a nearby tent and watched the Noldorin prince in silence as he stood brooding in the rain. The hound had a good feeling about this elleth maiden now under the master’s care, and sensed that she may be a blessing for these ‘dispossessed’ sons of Fëanor.

Maedhros caught the dog’s eye and smiled, beckoning the massive canine over to him as he turned away from the campground to take a breather. Trotting over, Huan was greeted with a pat on his withers and together they made their way to the bank of the flooding Celon, walking parallel to the swift current as the elf began to order his thoughts. “That child, I’ve seen her before… She seems familiar.” He voiced aloud to himself though Huan paid mild attention. “Where did she come from? Doriath? An elf of theirs wouldn’t let a single _deer_ out of their realm unless it was already strapped upon their backs. Surely she was not living in Nan Elmoth, would not Eöl have found her even before the wolves?” He sighed with a hand through damp hair. “I don’t know… she must need awaken to tell us anything about herself. Yet even then, what to _do_ with her? We will be blamed for who _knows_ what along _with_ kidnapping once we returned her to _her_ people… I know not; most importantly she must first survive her injuries.” Huan stopped them and turned about with ears alert, causing Maedhros to pay attention as well. In the distance back at camp he could see Curufin waving his arms, calling his brother to come back. “ _Blast_.”

 

Curufin came back into the tent and shook off the excess rainwater that had collected on his clothes. Celegorm was just finishing the stitches on a lesser gash at the lass’ side and quickly snipped the thread so that he could wash his bloodied hands.

“What are you going to tell him?” The younger approached him as Celegorm shook dry his hands from the washbasin.

He raised an eyebrow before his went to check his work on her recently closed wounds. “ _I’m_ not telling him anything… _you_ are, my brother.” At this, Curufin frowned and shook his head vehemently, but his brother approached him. “I know how Maedhros will act and he will be more lenient with you.”

“Celegorm, no! There is not even the _possibility_ of my telling him on my own. He will swallow me whole!” At that moment Maedhros came soaking into the well-furnished tent and looked from the two of them to the elven woman on the bed. Celegorm looked to the other edhel pointedly and Curufin spoke quietly to him. “You had _better_ have my back on this, Cel.”

“What’s the matter? Has she worsened?” Maedhros grilled them.

With a breath for courage, the youngest brother stepped forward. “I’m afraid she’s much worse, we… Maedhros, it’s imperative we remove her lower left arm completely.” He held his breath in anticipation of a curse or strike, but neither were delivered.

Just silence and the deadliest glare his eldest brother had ever bestowed to him in all his years. “Do you find me _laughing_ , Curufin?”

Celegorm then stepped forward calmly and defended his brother’s statement, knowing it had truly been _his_ solution to begin with. “This is no jest, I promise you, Maedhros. Her arm is in tatters if you would just _look_. If I stitch the shreds together again there is little chance the nerves will mend and more than likely infection will be the only thing to set.”

The eldest took an aggressive step forward and glared at his brother and what he was proposing. “You _will not_ remove that arm.” The command was ground out between clenched teeth and a set jaw before daggers were shot at both younger elves through rage-filled green eyes.

As he turned to exit the tent through the way he had come, Celegorm took another step forward and called out. “Maedhros!” The red-haired brother stopped, but did not turn. “It’s that _arm_ that will be the death of her!” The brothers watched their father’s firstborn straighten to his impressive full height as he inhaled but only pushed the tent flap away in anger, storming out into the dreary day.

Curufin at last let out the breath he’d held too long and sat on the end of his brother’s bed in resignation. Looking again to Celegorm, who stood bleakly with hands on his hips, he inquired as to what would be done.

The older of the two stepped back over to the she-elf injured on his bed and caringly wiped sweat from the lady’s brow and temple. He knew very well Maedhros’ objections to the amputation, besides the obvious reminders of his own torture and rescue, for he had himself thought of every reason _not_ to take the limb from her. Yet for him it seemed that life was far more worth saving than fears of political negativity or overall rumors. His brother knew that once they removed her arm and she came to, not only could _she_ be furious and likely hold it forever against them, but whoever they eventually returned her to would be _livid_ , possibly with assumptions of her kidnapping and sick torture to ‘submit’ her to the same fate as the eldest of Fëanor’s cursed sons.

“Cel? What are we to do?” Curufin asked once more and Celegorm sighed.

Much as he knew what had to be done, he respected Maedhros and understood his predicament. He would wait out as long as possible. “Help me wrap her arm, Curu. We’ll see how long we can obey.”

 

Maedhros took little rest that night for the turmoil his mind kept him in over such a decision. How could they think of putting someone, a _maiden_ no less, under such agonies that he had once been forced to suffer through? It was unpardonable, and he couldn’t even fathom the reactions of whosever people she belonged to. The sons of Fëanor did not need any more encouragement for their brethren to all but despise them.

At length he peeled off his wet clothing and filled for himself a hot bath. His eyes shut tightly and he gasped in the shock of such heat against his cold flesh. It had been well over three centuries since his capture at Morgoth’s hands and still the scars caused him more than sufficient pain at every opportunity. His wounds went far deeper than he cared to admit, especially not to anyone besides perhaps his brother Maglor, and to him barely at all. The eldest of his younger brothers had the fortitude not to ask many questions and because of it, knew more than most. All of Maedhros’ secrets could be well kept in his closest brother’s care.

Finally, the deeply flame-haired edhel removed from the scorching water, finding it little to no help at all, and girded himself in a pair of drawstring linen trousers. Standing at the entry of his temporary canvas home, he thought of Maglor still at his fort in Himring. With a faint smile, Maedhros thought of the counsel he surely would be given in such a situation. ‘ _Save her life, Russandol._ ’ Using the old family name of ‘copper-top’ to loosen him up. ‘ _Valar knows you could use a woman in your life to take care of you._’ He would say, no doubt nudge him in the ribs once or twice about how he knew his weakness for a head of curls and a fair gaze.

“No Kano, as fair as this elleth may be… you know I will not. I _can_ not.” Maedhros murmured into the rain and wind, confident that none but the Valar could hear him, and what else could _they_ do? His thoughts drifted to the image he saw of her when Celegorm had first ridden into their camp. Her head lay back upon his brother’s shoulder and pale blonde hair bounced in near ringlets around her, tightened only by the damp air and humidity of rain brewing in the late summer month. Even her _name_ escaped him; he knew so little of her, yet some unknown connections made him want to say he had met her before.

Quite suddenly a name came up in his mind along with a memory and face to accompany it… He had been at Fingolfin’s Feast of Reuniting that was attended long ago with Maglor. She had come upon him during the brief respite he’d found from being in the midst of so vast a number of elves. She seemed very hesitant to speak or meet his gaze, like she was concealing something; and at length he assumed that she had been told not to attend because of her age, though she did not look to be _very_ young in his eyes.

She had inquired if he was the Noldo called Maedhros and, bemused, he answered and asked also for her name, to which she looked around nervously then quietly told him was ‘Kalin.’ Eventually she had run off like a frightened deer when his brother at last came to him. She’d succeeded in brightening his mood that same hour, yet never did he see the maiden again during the festival. “ _Kalin_.” He tried the name aloud and smiled as he remembered that day so long ago. Yet his frown returned when he was reminded of her current condition. In frustration he threw on a jerkin and pulled his weathered cloak over broad shoulders, storming out of the tent he strode with purpose toward Celegorm’s quarters.

The younger brother had turned the elleth so that her hair fell over the edge of the mattress and into a medium basin filled with sudsy warm water. Maedhros came in and tossed his dripping cape aside onto the grass, walking over to Celegorm to put his hand on his shoulder. Cel looked up to the eldest, wondering if, and hoping, that he had changed his mind, but still he saw his firmness in the decision.

“Celegorm, go and care for yourself. I shall stay with her a while.” Without a word the younger edhel nodded and stood away from his charge, her still dangerously unconscious form lying upon the bed. The blonde elf left the tent and Maedhros took his former seat at her head, gently combing through her dirt and dried blood-ridden strands with wet fingers.

It’d been a long time since he had felt hair as soft as hers, and immediately he thought of his mother still in Aman. Nerdanal, bless her calming spirit, would let her first-born play with her ruddy brown tresses before sleep finally clamed him for a nap as an elfling. Her Maitimo, her ‘well-shaped one,’ had inherited his father’s hair type: straight and coarse, from his mature years on; though of her family’s reddish coloring traits, her son inherited all of its potency with his red-hot copper in youth (earning him the nick name of Russandol, ‘copper top’) grown to a rich blood-red with a bright flamed sheen upon entering adulthood. He hardly held his naneth’s looks in the face like he used to as an innocent, and Maedhros knew he would never see that face again.

Looking back down to Kalin, as his mind now allowed him to call her, he was glad to see some color in her face once more, though the poor maiden seemed to barely be holding onto the vitality of life. He had to believe she would survive without the drastic ‘solution’ his brothers had conjured up. He prayed to any Vala who would hear him so that her life could be spared somehow. Yet in the discouraging corner of his mind, he knew not all prayers would be heeded as worthy, especially those coming from _his_ lips.

The bandages around her left arm were stained with blood, both fresh and old, reminding him of less than fond visions he had been privy to in many a battle and even his own healing process after capture. ‘She does not deserve such a horrendous end; she deserves no end at all. An elleth such as Kalin should live peacefully in her father’s home until a suitor comes to court and bind to her, take care of her and their family together.’ He thought, and knew he could lecture her for being alone in any forest or plain with no protection, yet he also knew all the facts surrounding her attack were anything but certain. Kalin looked as if there could be more than what met the eye, yet to _his_ eyes there was an innocence and purity to her that he found an unusually strong desire within him to protect.

Gently Maedhros squeezed dry her hair with a nearby cloth and turned her head carefully to the side so that he could move the basin and situate her properly on the bed. With her head secure in the crook of his right arm and his left hand under the bend of her knees, he lifted Kalin and changed her position to fit more comfortably on the mattress, thoughtfully fixing the blankets upon her the correct way afterward.

The she-elf moaned very softly when he touched her bandaged side and her unconscious expression never lightened from a disturbed frown. Maedhros noticed her right hand begin to tremble along with her lower lip as if a chill had overcome her and yet when he brushed his wrist against her brow he felt nothing but clammy and burning skin. He held also her left arm, but not even a pulse trickled through the dislocated veins.

With a muttered curse, the eldest son looked out the open tent flap for his brothers in vain, certain that neither of them would be out in such weather. He glanced back at Kalin unknowingly struggling on the bed and, with a speed born of rigid training, Maedhros fled the canvas lodging and burst into a tent claimed not far away by Curufin. “ _Curu_! Curufin, Kalin’s developed a fever and she’s starting to tremble. I need your help.”

The younger brother looked on his dripping sibling with a puzzled expression, putting down his sleepy young son, he finally asked in a softer voice. “Be quieter, I will help, of course. But who are you talking about?”

The eldest simply grabbed him by the arm and explained as he dragged him to the tent entry. “ _Kalin_ , the maiden in Celegorm’s quarters. Come, I think she’s worsening.”

Together they ran into said tent and Curufin quickly checked her forehead and pulse points on both wrists and neck. He shook his head. “This is not good. Her arm is not taking. Maedhros, fetch Celegorm.”

But the eldest wanted answers. “What do you mean it’s not taking?”

“Celegorm!” He interrupted urgently. “Go and get Celegorm, I need his aid. _Now_.”

Maedhros set his jaw and turned to run back into the pouring rain in search of Celegorm. The edhel was taking his supper in a tent with several elves and stopped mid-bite upon seeing his brother burst inside. “Celegorm! It’s her, you must come with me, now.” Again, without a word, the younger followed his soaking and urgent leader back to his own dwelling and was angered upon seeing Kalin’s exposed and discolored left arm. Curufin had unwrapped it to check her more thoroughly and the arm was all but dead in both appearance and reflexes.

Maedhros was pushed out of the way as Celegorm made his way to her side, alarmed, but hardly surprised with the way things were commencing. This was exactly what he had told him would happen if they did not remove the problem at its source. The infection was settling into her body now that the blood loss had weakened her immune system to next to nothing, and the extra baggage of a severed arm did nothing to make any of it better.

“Can I do anything to help?” Maedhros offered in the midst of his brothers’ frenzied attempts to cool her temperature.

Quickly, Celegorm replied. “Let us do what needs doing… allow us to take the arm, it is the obstacle inhibiting any recovery!”

“No! I will not take back what I’ve ordered, her arm remains.”

“Then she’s going to fade.” He stated simply.

“ _No._ I refuse.”

The younger grew irate. “This is not about what _you_ want! Not everyone would rather _die_ than lose a limb, Maedhros!”

“I _am_ thinking of her! You know not the pain that accompanies such an act, both to your body _and_ thought. It may very well be her death.”

“Well _this_ certainly shall be. Unless I take the arm, this will be her last night.”

The eldest inhaled deeply but showed no signs of relenting. “ _No_.”

Kalin’s trembling began to worsen and spread throughout her body while the blonde elf’s stare hardened against his brother. “Be _gone_ , then, Maedhros. You’ve done quite enough here.” Celegorm spat out the dismissal and turned a cold shoulder as the red-haired Noldo scooped up his cloak from the ground and departed, trudging through the darkness and rain without any destination in mind.

 

“Will she last till dawn, do you think, Cel?” Curufin inquired not long after their eldest sibling left them with his forbidding command.

Wearily, the elder of the two rubbed the back of his hand over his face and finally locked his arms on the end of the bed as he leaned over it, mentally debating within himself. ‘It has to be done, whether he wills it or not. We’ve already delayed overlong.’ Celegorm looked to his brother with meaning and immediately Curufin understood. “Fetch me my knife, Curu.”


	2. In the Darkness of My Dreaming

**Title:** Single Handedly

**Genre:** Romance, Angst

**Rating:** PG-13

**Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

**Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

**Chapter(s):** 2/?

**Summary:** _Celegorm reached out a hand to help him up and firmly Maedhros took it, pulling him close to bestow a poisonous look and growled, “This is not forgivable, Celegorm. I will never forget.”_

**Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

**Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. ಠ_ಠ

 

Mîrluiniel vaguely felt some nauseating paste of herbs being pushed deep into her mouth and she coughed in attempt to force the mess back out, failing when two fingers pushed the mixture back in and firmly made her swallow it past her gag reflex. As soon as the sickening stuff was down her throat, the elleth jolted instinctively as some kind of cord was tied uncomfortably tight just below her left elbow, shooting pain through the appendage as far as there was feeling. A whimper escaped her lips when whoever was at her side constricted the, already throb-evoking, knot to a numbingly uncomfortable length while a freshly cooled cloth covered her forehead and shocked an already cold body.

“Bring me that pan to contain the blood.” A male voice ordered above her and Mîrluiniel struggled at first to understand him for he spoke quickly in Quenyan. Still gagging over the horrid herb mixture, she fought with her lungs to speak and hoarsely begged them grant her a drink of water.

The edhel on her left put his palm over her closed eyes and murmured softly to her exhausted displeasure. “Not now, my lady. If you will let my brother’s medicine take effect, I promise you I will give you a drink when you awaken. Trust me now and sleep.” The way his hand touched her eyelids made her initial drowsiness overcome her and, against her mind’s consent, she relaxed into blankness, her last feeling being a million pricking and tingling sensations encasing her inside and out. Yet besides such feelings, there was something in her left arm that felt wrong.

 

“She spoke?” Curufin came over with a shallow dish and placed it under her forearm where the incision would soon be made.

“Yes, she asked for water, though I gave her none. The mixture has just taken effect. The last place I felt her pulse on the arm was right here.” He gestured to the place spoken of. “Not as shallow as I had thought, midways up the fore length.” Celegorm informed his younger sibling and met his eye at the last in search of some consent. He needed at least one person to back this decision before he proceeded.

And good brother as he had, Curufin put his hand on Cel’s shoulder with an encouraging nod and gave him the go ahead. “I’m right here with needle and thread to finish the job.” They shared a very slight smile before Celegorm unsheathed his dagger and took hold of her arm where he had marked the skin.

 

As Kalin cried out from her temporary paralysis, Maedhros felt a strong sense of fear and pain not his own well up in his chest. An urgency only experienced in battle washed over him and was amplified ten times over when the faint scream of an elven lady reached his sensitive ears.

 

The Valar blessed Celegorm’s hands to be able and his blade sharp as the last of her bone was cut through and the deadened, gory hand was permanently removed. While the older brother cleaned the flesh and then his own hands, Curufin moved in quickly with efficient skills in suturing and shut tightly the fresh wound so precisely made. The faint light of a rain-clouded morning made its way through the canvas of their dwelling and aided both edhil along with candle light to clean and bandage Kalin’s arm, making use of every ounce of care they possessed.

Curufin’s paralyzing herb blend had quickened the procedure tremendously, though Celegorm could not restrain his guilt for neither giving her any information when she had awoken, nor providing pain-killing substances that would have helped to subdue the searing pain that was so evident on her pale face during, and now after, the surgery.

Dabbing beads of sweat from her face and neck that had developed through her fever, the elf was taken off-guard when his eldest brother burst into the quarters with a fury that shone in his eyes greater than the strongest emerald. ‘How can he have known already?’ His thoughts franticly tried to understand, but it mattered little. _He knew_. And by Ungoliant’s webs, if this intimidating Noldo didn’t murder him in that moment, then surely his ears would be torn off in the next for the crime he knew had been committed in his brother’s sight.

“ _What_ have you _done_?” Maedhros’ words carried more licking flames in them than a blacksmith’s glowing embers as his gaze went from Kalin’s missing hand to glaring at his second youngest brother. Reflexively, Celegorm backed away from the bed and the elleth in it as the tallest of them stalked forward menacingly. He found himself only grateful for the lack of sword at his brother’s side. “Can you even _fathom_ what you have done to her?” With a great leap and snarl, the largest of their brothers lunged and landed on top of the other, easily knocking the wind from him. “Do you even _know_!”

He sent a hard fist into Celegorm’s jaw as the younger grabbed wildly at his collar but could not halt the attack even when his opponent lacked his right, and once most powerful, hand. “Maedhros, _stop_!” Curufin tried to grab the elf’s shoulder but was violently shoved away. Suddenly dazed by a well-calculated hit to the temple, Maedhros paused overlong in his attack and received another blow in the same place from the third youngest son, sending him down on his back in a moment of weakness. Using a technique well practiced during their childhood spats, Celegorm quickly took the high ground atop his legs as Curufin came from behind the eldest and bound both arms in his locked grasp. In vain, Maedhros struggled and bowed his back against the two strong edhil atop him, calling out in anger when even his kicks and throws of weight proved fruitless between the two capable elves.

In subdued rage, the eldest stilled and at last yielded his strength to the younger sons. They let him go cautiously and stood, Celegorm reached out a hand to help him up and firmly Maedhros took it, pulling him close to bestow a poisonous look and growled. “This is unforgivable, Celegorm. I will _never_ forget.” His expression was dark and made only worse by a swollen and bleeding temple, the hot liquid that trickled down his face nearly matched in color the vibrancy of his dripping hair. His iron strong glare softened in concern as those eyes cut to Kalin. He asked quietly. “Will she live?”

Celegorm followed his gaze and heaved a sigh of relief to see her breathing more deeply and a peaceful expression settling on her face as she slept. “Yes.”

 

As the sun rose fully, Maedhros went to the large paddock in which the company’s horses were kept and sought out his stallion, Rúnyadal. Having gathered the tack from his own tent, he set the intricate saddle over the fence and opened the gate with a whistle to his steed. Obediently, the unusually tall dark grey trotted without harness from the gated corral, swishing his high-set black tail while he pranced about his master.

The elf hardly paid him mind as he shut the gate back again and picked up the detailed leather tack he had furnished himself long years ago. “Come to me, my flame foot. We’re going for a run.” Bowing his head excitedly, the majestic stallion made to stand beside Maedhros and, methodically, the elf fastened onto him both the lightweight saddle and thin leather bridle, both pieces black to compliment the horse’s jet accents with grey and white in progression.

Rainwater spilled over both elf and animal and as the sodden edhel made to mount, a deep rumble of thunder shook the earth, frightening Rúnyadal to jolt away from his master. Maedhros cursed the skittish qualities of a young horse and was quick to successfully mount up and take off before the stallion made any other nervous movements that weren’t in forward motion.

Rearing up at his master’s forceful urging, the pair quickly sped through camp and onward in a race against Manwë’s very breath. Mud and rocks flew up behind swift hooves and continuous rain hit them all the harder in punishment for flying so fast in the storm, stinging the elf’s face as it also splashed off of Rúnyadal’s mane. Shouting the horse onward, they cleared a fallen tree near the river and swiftly paced past the speed of the current in its overflow.

Maedhros could not express, hardly to himself even, how upset he was that his own brothers would do such a thing to this maiden. He was furious they had disobeyed his express orders, yet to add a helping of confusion in with his feelings, he was relieved that Kalin had been rescued from such a danger of near death. But that fact did not abate in any way the feeling that he had ruined her life by letting them remove her hand. Yes, she lived, but now she needed to _survive_. He could never forgive himself.

Without thought or much care he pushed his steed deeper into the storm and soon he could no longer see beyond the horse’s head, even with keen elven eyes. Judging for his master, Rúnya slowed to an easy trot in spite of receiving multiple cues to keep on at the same speed. Maedhros sat up in the saddle and gave in, pulling the animal to a complete stop as he struggled to order his thoughts. It proved more difficult as fatigue settled on him and his head gave him grief from the powerful blows his brothers had dealt him earlier.

Dismounting stiffly, he took a seat, uncaring, down in the gravel and slough and softly beckoned his horse to lay beside him, surprised that Rúnyadal had even heard his voice through the rain and again that he obeyed in the next moment. The eldest son of Fëanor had trained many an unwilling horse in his numerous centuries; Rúnyadal was quite a pleasant change.

The stallion nudged his head against Maedhros’ cheek and, with a rare smile, the Noldo stroked his neck and combed through the wet mane that greatly resembled his own in texture. “A fine pair we make, hmm, Rúnya? Both of us soaking, muddy, and lost out in a storm. A pitiful scene, I’d say.” Calmly he spoke to the horse and persuaded the animal to focus only on his touch and voice, not the pounding rain or frequent thunder. “Do you know of the maiden Celegorm brought here yesterday?” He began as if talking to a child. “She was very hurt and is getting better now, I suppose in _spite_ of me. You see, I told my brothers not to do something to help her and she became much, much worse because of it. This very morning they went against my word and took from her, her left hand, much like my right was taken from me. And it is only because of _them_ that she still lives.” He frowned and took a long breath. “In fact, I helped her none at all. If it had been up to me… _Eru_ , she would be dead.”

 

Mîrluiniel slept for several hours undisturbed except for some little pain when she tried to move her left side. One dream played out briefly during her rest and showed to her an elf, taller than most and with hair as red as the center of a rose.

 

He extended his hand toward her and she went to take it, but as soon as she did, it disappeared, replaced only by a reddened scar of where it once was. The edhel broke their gaze, ashamed, and his expression fell to a sad frown.

_‘Forgive me,_ mîr nin _.’ He murmured and turned away before she could reach for him again._ _The vision ended as he walked away from her and she felt more sorrow and pity for him than she had ever felt for anyone._

 

Vaguely she sensed someone giving her a draught of water and then she had peace again once her throat no longer cracked. And then she dreamed it again, seeing more of his face and how his emerald eyes clouded in pain. She remembered meeting this elf once before… _Maedhros_. His name was Maedhros, the eldest son of Fëanor, whose father created the Silmarils. She called his name this time as he turned away, but still he kept on and as he vanished, she awoke.

The heaviness of rain weighted the tent roof above her and she barely managed a smile at the sound and smell of it outside the open tent flap. ‘Where am I?’ She asked inwardly, surveying her new environment. ‘Surely not in Nan Elmoth any longer, it’s hardly open enough for this much rain to fall, let alone set up this large of a tent.’ Mîrluiniel remembered the elf that had rescued her from the wolves, and she struggled to sit up and perhaps find him, yet a terrible tightness in her chest gave her grief over the attempted action.

Her left arm was in a sling and as she tried to flex her fingers she gasped sharply, feeling nothing but pain. Looking down shocked her to find the hand was in its entirety completely missing. Had the wolf taken it from her? She couldn’t remember; it was just as numb then as it was gone now. She could hardly bring herself to believe her own eyes.

“My lady?” A male voice drew her attention to the blonde elf just come into the entrance of the tent.

She looked up to him, the shock of such a discovery still very clear in her shining blue eyes and he responded by making his way to her. “Wha-what happened to my arm?”

Panic began to creep into her voice and, sensing it, he quickly came to her right side and took her hand in his, brushing his other along her hair and forehead. “Hush now, it’s all right. I promise you, you’re fine. It was severed in your attack and when you arrived here, the hand would not take and was infecting the rest of your body so long as we left it. I’m afraid if we hadn’t, you could very well have been lost to us.” Mîrluiniel tried to breathe evenly and succeeded for the most part yet still tears fell quickly in the trauma of it all. Breathing deeply was hard as well because of her other mending wounds and she started to cry softly, leaning forward in immense pain to accept the embrace this elf freely offered her.

She missed her father, and Galathil, even Celeborn in that moment. Right then she wanted nothing more than to be in their arms. What would they say? ‘ _You never should have been alone,_ ’ she knew, perhaps that it had even been coming to her. ‘No, they would never be so cruel as to say such.’ They would surely blame her _rescuers_ for it, for taking it from her. Did _she_? ‘No, I am grateful they saved my life. Indeed I owe them so very much for this gracious act.’

The elf holding her carefully rubbed her back and upper arm, allowing her to release in tears what she could not in coherent voice. Faster than she would have thought, she grew weary once again and leaned upon him more and more until he was the only thing keeping her on the bed. Easily, he laid her over on her right side for a change in position and thoughtfully pushed her hair to the side as she snubbed and hiccupped a few more times. “My name is _Celegorm_ , my lady. Call me if you need aught and I will do my best to retrieve it for you.” Nodding sleepily and with a furrowed brow, Mîrluiniel closed her eyes and huddled between the sheets and atop her pillow, an amazingly calm sleep coming over her immediately.

 

The next time she awoke was to a heated argument being held in barely subdued voices to one corner of the tent. They spoke in Quenyan, which seemed almost foreign to her young ears and, to her dismay, she could only translate a few words and phrases in her head as she was turned away from the quarreling pair. Namely, she heard _stronger_ , _returned_ , _loved ones_ , and _not of us_ , which surprisingly unnerved her more than anything else.

Now that her mind was mostly clear again, her adventurous and curious nature came back full force. ‘I will be recuperating from limb-loss in any circumstance, and I’d rather be doing it with people who _understand_ why I am like this.’ There was also the matter of her dreams. Those had been present, though not in great detail, long before coming into the Fëanorian encampment, and she knew for a fact she would never meet Maedhros again if she returned to Doriath now. In her fëa she knew this was somehow so very important to her future.

At length they seemed to finish, and one of them stormed past the end of her bed, coming into her view just as the elf went to the door flap where, for some reason, he hesitated. Turning back to her even as his handless right arm held up the canvas, his face registered in her mind and she gasped softly, hardly heard beneath the pounding of continuous rain pelting down outside. ‘Maedhros,’ her mind raced. ‘He is _here_? I don’t even rightly know where _here_ is. This is so much.’ He was covered in mud and soaked through with rainwater. The stern glare that had been his prior expression, softened instantly when he met her tired gaze, and the emerald gems that served as his eyes seemed to link with hers just as he turned away and left the dwelling.

 

Managing to eat something light that Celegorm kindly brought to her the next morning, Mîrluiniel’s anxiety returned when he finally started to ask the questions she knew would come.

“I’m afraid I still do not know your name, lady, or even where you come from. Were you alone when the wolves attacked?”

She chewed another bite of ripe apple before deciding on how to answer. “My name is Kalin. I _was_ alone; the beasts killed first my horse but came after me as soon as I began to run. My bow was attached onto her saddle, I couldn’t have reached it without incident.” She thought sadly of her horse for a moment while he nodded

Then again he asked another question. “What realm do you come from, Kalin?”

She hesitated before looking up at him and probing. “Why do you wish to know that?”

The edhel’s brows knit in confusion at such a question. He could only shrug. “Well, to be able to deliver you home once you recover. We aren’t going to harm you or your people, I promise.”

Quickly she corrected her meaning and explained. “ _No_ , no, no I know that is not your intent. I simply wish to… to remain _here_. I don’t want to go back.”

He was puzzled by her honest declaration, but judged her not to be acting out of fear or rash emotion. Yet still, he could hardly explain her desire to stay in a place, and with elves, so foreign to her beyond the fact that they _had_ saved her life. He considered it. “You owe us nothing for your life, Kalin. You are not expected to pay any guerdon…”

“But I would certainly _like_ to help in any way that I can. Whether you think so or not, I know I _do_ owe you so very much. I’d like very much to stay, my lord.” She seemed determined to remain and he crossed his arms in thought, motioning that she could continue to eat her small meal.

At length he decided _not_ to decide in that instant, and told her as much. “There is a good deal more healing you have left to do before we need make any decisions, Kalin. I would have you rest and mend before any such choice is made.” He patted her blanketed knee reassuringly and left her with instruction to try and sleep once she had finished. “I will speak with my brother about it. For now ease your mind, you are more stressed than you may realize.” He departed with a smile and she hoped they would not take her away. She wanted to explore to what end her feelings and instincts were commanding her that she go, and possibly find what all her dreams concerning Fëanor’s eldest son might truly meant for her.

 

“She’s awakened, if you’d like to know.” Celegorm announced to his eldest, currently brooding, brother and crossed his arms as he watched him groom Rúnyadal expertly.

Maedhros slowed his movements but kept his eyes on the charcoal clouded flanks of his steed. “Is she angered?” He asked hesitantly while his kin came to lean on the gate beside him, leaning with his elbows.

“Amazingly not. Just a bit in shock over it all. Would you care to know her name?”

“It’s Kalin. Yes, I know it already.” Celegorm looked surprised for a moment and made to ask further but he was already in the midst of continuing. “I met her once before, at Mereth Aderthad.”

“You know where she’s from, then?”

“Our meeting was brief. I learned only her name, and she, mine.” He paused and turned to Cel. “You mean _you_ don’t know where she comes from? I thought you talked with her.”

The younger sighed. “That’s mainly why I’ve come. She won’t _tell_ me her homeland… She wishes to remain here. Whether out of obligation for our rescuing her, or fear of what waits for her in _her_ land; though I do not believe that to be the case. I think she has yet another reason for her desire to stay than either of those, however earnest I trust her to be in repaying our kindness.”

Maedhros scoffed at the term ‘kindness’ being used to describe their actions and continued to curry the drying mud from his stallion’s hindquarters. “What did you tell her, then?”

Again, his brother sighed and passively reached out a hand for Rúnyadal to lip and nibble, debating once more what he’d been debating since leaving Kalin that morning. “You know better than I that if we were to keep her here, against her will or _by_ it, we would most likely be hunted down for her ‘kidnapping’ and ‘ _torture_.’ Our reputations balance upon an arrow’s fletching as it is. A war fought over this maiden will not do.” Maedhros remained quiet as the stressed edhel thought aloud and waited for his second youngest sibling to voice the option that had immediately come to _his_ mind, though it was certainly not the faultless and _correct_ thing to do. “Of course, there _is_ the fact that no one _knows_ she is under our care…”

“Celegorm.” Maedhros started, using a chiding tone, however reluctant. “She _has_ family somewhere that will be missing her at some point, whether fully healed or no. Whatever _her_ personal desire is to stay, _they_ will no doubt object to us keeping her overlong.” Nodding, the younger brother seemed to concede to the logic of his point. “She _will_ heal completely, yes?” The oldest asked in addition when he realized he’d taken that fact for granted and Celegorm nodded without much interest, his mind thinking over other obstacles besides Kalin’s slowly improving health. The two were silent for some time before Maedhros switched tools for his mount’s grooming and bid him go in a curt voice. The eldest had his own ideas to ponder and privacy was sacred to him.

It shocked him she was _civil_ at all to them after knowing what had been done to her, yet, he reasoned, _he_ had not been angry with Fingon upon for cutting him off that accursed cliff-side. In both instances it had been done to save a life, at length he accepted that she had simply realized this truth quicker than he had anticipated her to. ‘But how can she so readily put her trust in strangers enough to want to _live_ with us instead of returning to her own people and land?’ It baffled him for anyone to be so swift in placing their faith in another. Perhaps it was her young age and innocence, but perhaps he had just become too calloused in such things.

With the subject of her innocence brought to his mind, Maedhros thought of Kalin more as the beautiful elleth that she was; how her hair had been so soft through his five fingers, her crystal-like blue eyes when they had met so quickly nigh on three centuries ago and then just last eve when their gaze caught, however briefly. He wished to see her again, perhaps try to find out more about her, but if anything just to see those bright eyes again and satiate the craving, then no more. ‘You mustn’t lose yourself on her, Maedhros.’ His mind warned and shook him off of the current path his thoughts were walking. ‘She’s too pure to stain with _your_ blood, keep your distance.’ Sighing, he pressed his forehead to Rúnyadal’s withers and grasped the grooming comb in a strong hand. He could not risk harming her by becoming too close. ‘I will protect her by staying away.’ Resolved, he tossed the comb into the bag of other tools before mounting skillfully upon Rúnya’s high bare back. Fëanor’s eldest son knew the oath’s limits far better than most, understanding that the curse of _its_ broken boundaries would injure far more than one individual.

 

“You would have laughed so loud to see Cel’s face when that poor nag took him for it right in front of us all and a few ellith besides. I’d never seen _any_ elf turn as red as Maedhros’ hair…” Curufin laughed at Kalin’s side as he distracted her from having her wounds checked by Celegorm. She giggled softly, but in pain, though she wished to laugh out right like she would normally have been able to.

“Curufinwë,” The elder of the present siblings addressed his brother in a chastising tone. “You lessen my honor to this young maiden, though she barely knows me. It’s an unfair act and the favor will be returned, you know it.” The edhel admonished with a jesting quirk in his brow and gently slid his knife between the skin and bandaging on her shoulder.

Kalin smiled broadly to the brothers and shook her head. “I feel as if I know so much about you all already, Curufin is so fit for telling stories of everyone.” Her compliment was taken well by the younger of the pair and he stood from the bedside to bow elaborately, hamming up her attention to get another laugh or that lovely smile.

“My lady flatters most preferably to the verbal sustenance I bestow upon her starved ears. Shall I tell you another and more?”

Flinching as Celegorm placed another herb poultice onto her side wounds, she grimaced a smile with difficulty and nodded. “ _Please_ do. I would much rather hear you than feel this.” He knit his fallow brows in concern for her but knew she was in good hands and so began with another tale of his brothers. As he continued, he noted curiously that she took a much greater interest in stories containing anything about the eldest of his brothers, Maedhros. She would ask subtly what he enjoyed to do or playfully what his weak spots were for becoming annoyed or pleased.

Stolen glances told him Celegorm had noticed this same quality and so he kept baiting her with more information until at last his brother became satisfied more or less with the condition of her flesh wounds. “Kalin, you’ve worn yourself out listening to my brother and staying awake this long in your state of health. Please rest as long as you can. One or both of us will check on you from time to time, is that well?” Celegorm situated the pillows around her and stopped with his hand on her head as she nodded in response and thanked them both most sincerely. The brothers left her to sleep and Kalin took a measured breath, careful of her healing ribs.

She was happy they were so accommodating to her in every way. Her curiosity towards the sons of Fëanor had truly begun several hundred years ago when her young ears had been exposed tales of their changes to elven life and their oath to reclaim the Silmarils. It had been the reason she’d spirited away to the High King Fingolfin’s Mereth Aderthad, even when the people of Doriath were against attending. Blessed Galathil had assisted her in making the journey from Menegroth, informing their King Thingol of his own business out of their Queen’s protective Girdle. His information was all truth, for her eldest brother had indeed gone to the Feast of Reuniting with her in Hithlum, changing his title to Herumor*, and hers to her mother-name, Kalin. They both swore the oath of friendship between their Sindarin people and the Noldor come from Aman. Even though the people of her King’s realm, her own father included, loathed the Fëanorians for their Kinslaying in Alqualondë and lust for the Silmarils, Mîrluiniel spoke the oath of friendship and meant every word with all of her fëa.

In her heart Mîrluiniel knew she could trust the sons of Fëanor, though rash and fierce they had proved to be countless times in the years since their oath. Her heart, her very fëa, believed and knew that they could be good edhil. Maedhros, particularly, had always appealed to her the very most; in his character to reclaim alliances and seek peace first, before anger and violence. To her, it appeared he truly regretted his father’s oath more than any of the sons, and revealed such in his loyal actions toward elves that his family had once proclaimed rule over and fought against. He knew when to comply and bow out gracefully, and when to stand up and fight to the death, which he very nearly attained on Thangorodrim.

Only in that moment did she realize that they now shared the same disability, if on the opposite arm. Mîrluiniel resolved as drowsiness sought to overcome her that she would never treat her amputation as a handicap. It would change her life, but she could adapt.

 

Maedhros cooled Rúnyadal down after their run and sent him into the paddock with the others once dismounting the bare animal. Tack was not always necessary in his opinion. Intently studying his boots on the ground as he walked, he hardly noticed the direction in which they took until he stopped at the edge of tent stakes he knew not to be his own. Lifting weary eyes to the tent flap before him, he could not be surprised to find the one containing Kalin within it. He sighed. He did not wish to deal with his brothers in his current mood… Yet, he heard no voices or movement within. ‘If she is sleeping, I would be able to see her as I wish, and then leave satisfied that I will have at least _checked on_ her.’ He convinced himself and entered the tent without giving his logical mind a chance to think out of the decision.

He was thankful she was asleep as he’d hoped, and neither Celegorm nor Curufin were anywhere to be seen within the canvas chamber. Hesitant still, he neared the bed and let his eyes follow the curve of her shoulder, arm, hip, and leg under the blanket as she rested on her right side away from him. At last he settled in the chair beside the mattress and simply watched her breathe for several minutes.

Kalin’s breaths changed in a moment, though, and soon quickened after the left arm in her sling tried to move against bandages and in her unconscious state let out a groan of discomfort, moaning and shifting in distress as she muttered. “ _No_ , stay with me… please.” Maedhros sat upright in his seat and listened to her voiced dream intently. “Please… _Maedhros_.” He stiffened when his name passed through her lips and sat rigid as she continued to squirm in pain until she turned onto her back, her face conveying as much pain as he’d seen her in upon her first arrival nearly in pieces. “Maedhros?” The hurt in her voice as she gasped made him wish to Eru that he could stop doing whatever it was that distressed her in her sleep, to ease that beautiful face from such sadness. His only hand betrayed him and gently reached to touch her cheek with a few fingers, stroking downward lightly until they grazed the numerous fresh bandages where he held her upper left arm in a tentative, yet comforting, way.

A weak smile graced his mouth as she shifted just into his hand and he believed her face eased ever so slightly. If it would not harm her further, he knew he would take her in his arms and hold her until every bad dream could melt away. Though after an instant of thinking such, he pulled his hand away from her damaged body and stood abruptly. He could not do this; tempt himself with her touch and appearance whenever she was unaware. It was wrong, he knew, but he _felt_ much differently than his mind _thought_. But being near her was too dangerous. Whether she could contain herself or not, he was afraid of his _own_ reaction to her lengthened presence.

Looking at her for a moment longer, he frowned to see her face return to the sad expression from before and he forced himself away, striding out of the tent with no destination in his eyes.

Curufin saw his brother as he made his own way to visit Kalin and changed direction to catch him up. “Maedhros!” He turned as his name was called and his younger sibling came up to him with a curious look. “Did you see Kalin? I thought her asleep.”

“She is. I saw her for but a moment.”

He continued walking but was matched in step by his shorter brother and he began. “Cel re-bandaged her this morning and I told her stories of our youth in Araman to keep her mind off things.” Curufin watched his elder closely and added. “She particularly liked anything I said about _you_ , Maitimo.”

Maedhros stopped stiff for a fleeting moment until he seemed to resume his calm, once more assuming his normal, foreboding temperament. “I can’t imagine why. Did you find out anything of _her_ background?”

Curufin stammered slightly as he thought. “Well, no. _I_ did most of the talking.”

Maedhros rolled his eyes and walked further. ‘Why does that not surprise me?’ He thought inwardly.

“When she spoke it was really only to ask more of you.”

The oldest brother had finally endured enough razing and whirled on his younger sibling by more than enough decades. “Curufin, it is enough that I am _myself_ struggling to keep my distance from this elleth. But your _hinting_ at her supposed interest is not needed. _End_ it. Before I do, forcibly.” The command was perhaps stricter than he had intended; after all, his brothers were his only source of information on Kalin, yet in the end he was glad to have made himself expressly clear. Curufin was indeed shocked by such a reprimand and stood a moment dumbly as Maedhros stormed away to his tent on the other side of camp.

This was becoming too much, Maedhros felt, and began to clean the mess around his quarters, packing his things away into the saddlebags on his bed. He had to leave, he needed to return to Himring and tend his own business, not his brothers,’ and consequently Kalin’s, in the process. Things were well enough in their cavalry encampment and he had a people of his own to secure in the windy hills of his ‘home’ where he was needed. Kalin was simply too beautiful, in appearance and character. She drew him to her very fëa without any knowledge of her power over him. He conceded that she was a weakness for him, much like the Silmarilli were the weakness of his father. Just as the Silmarils had never done anything in and of _themselves_ , it was the desire of their possession.

“Maedhros, where are you going? You are not leaving already…” Curufin entered his brother’s room and questioned pointlessly, as answers were already clear.

“I _am_ leaving already, Curu. Do not burden yourself, you knew my visit would be brief when I came.” Maedhros replied indifferently.

“If this is about Kalin, I find it completely unnecessary. I apologize for my ‘ _hinting’_ earlier, you know I cannot miss an opportunity to tease, but I _was_ truthful concerning what she said and what she took interests in.”

The eldest sighed. “If already she takes such interest in my person, then it is best if I leave now. I have no wish to disappoint her by being a realistic elf instead of the story tale character that she’s been fed with most, if not all, of her youth. Do not pester me, Curufin. It is not only in concern for her welfare that I am going. I would rather reach Himring before the snows, than be trapped here and serve Maglor no use until the spring.”

Curufin rolled his eyes, certain that that particular excuse had never been of much significance. He’d seen his brother to trek, without horse or company, through a _blizzard_ to reach destinations not half so important before. Yet he knew Maedhros would not change his decision once made and chose to no longer argue over so moot a point. “Will you farewell Celegorm before you rush away? Celebrimbor, also, has but rarely seen you since you arrived.” He asked after a while as his flame-haired brother at length took both bags and a bedroll outside and set them down before starting toward his horse in the corral.

“If I meet my brother before then. I will not seek him out if that is what you wish to know. And my nephew will not miss me overmuch; tell him a story for me. If you desire a goodbye be made to _Cel_ , then you may go and fetch him. I’ll be packing Rúnyadal.” With a nod to his subtle instruction, the younger fair sibling ran off in another direction in search of Celegorm.

 

“Maedhros?” Mîrluiniel asked out into her dream. Soon a fear of abandonment, the kind of which she had never felt so strong in her life, came over her and in searing pain she sat up, calling out as her right arm reached out to where she felt he was leaving her to. “Maedhros! Why do you leave me?” Waves of tighter and more bearing pain became too much, and with a jolt she awoke in tears and a sore voice. Quickly someone was at her side and easing her back down to the mattress, worried hands checking her left side that had possibly been damaged by the strain of movement.

At last her eyes cleared of some tears and she looked up to see Celegorm standing over her with worry and what seemed to be a piqued interest in his expression. “Kalin, I think you need to tell me what you’ve dreamt that concerns my brother.” His serious suggestion made her feel like she had done some wrong.

She was in the middle of taking a deep breath when Curufin burst through the tent flap and glanced between them before looking to his brother with a sarcastic urgency on his fair features. “Maedhros is leaving for Himring.” At his announcement, both Celegorm and Kalin looked to each other in surprise and then he looked back to his younger brother. “He is packing Rúnya as we speak, I thought you might want to see him before he makes away. He told me he wouldn’t seek you out, so I did.”

Celegorm nodded and turned to Kalin with gentle hands to wipe her tears away, looking to her meaningfully. “I will return in a moment, do not distress yourself so.” Giving him a very forced smile that seemed to satisfy him, he turned from her and was out the door with his brother, leaving her to calm down and attempt to collect her thoughts.

Mîrluiniel was briefly unsure as to what she should tell him but then immediately decided to communicate only the truth. She was keeping enough from them already, and she didn’t at all prefer it to complete honesty, though she knew it had become necessary. Her most recent dreams had been slightly different than the others since arriving in this place. In these she, also, had but one arm, like in reality, and Maedhros had kissed her neck while he held her for what seemed like it would be the last time and finally let her go, allowing her to be pulled away by someone unknown to her. He drew a long sword in his one hand and turned away from her sadly, at last leaving her sight as she cried out his name in tears. Mîrluiniel realized only then that Curufin had come to tell his brother Maedhros was _truly_ leaving, heading back to Himring where she understood he kept a fortress with his brother, Maglor.

“Kalin?” A familiar voice re-entered the tent and she looked up. “I am back. I would like you to tell me why you called out Maedhros’ name in your sleep. What was your dream?” Celegorm came to sit on the bed at her right and helped her sit just a little more upright against the pillows.

She took a cautious breath to test the new position and finally began. “To be direct, this was not the first dream I’ve had of your brother; though this one differed from the others.” He politely allowed her to continue with a curious expression as he leaned an elbow on his knee. “The first dreams I could not recognize him right away, he was just a tall, red-haired edhel extending his hand to me, his right hand. Whenever I reached up to take it, it would vanish, and only the scars remained on his arm. He wouldn’t look at me then and seemed to be disappointed, though toward himself, not at me. I just couldn’t understand it because he did nothing _wrong_. Then he asked me to forgive him, calling me his ‘jewel’ as he turned and walked away.”

“How many times had this vision come to you, Kalin?” He inquired and she tried to think.

“I’ve lost count. I’ve had these dreams before even coming here, but they were much less detailed and he never spoke, it was always fleeting.”

He nodded in thought and acknowledgement before asking further. “And what of your most recent dream? You said it was differed, yes?”

With a nod she answered him completely, running the fabric of her sling through her remaining fingers. “Yes, one difference was that I, also, had but one hand and his simply wasn’t there at all, there was no disappearance this time. He embraced me like he knew he’d never see me again; kissed my neck and then of a sudden released me, letting another pull me away from behind. I watched him draw his sword and turn away from me in a reluctant manner. I felt so much despair that I could not control it and I called his name. This was when you awoke me and it ended quite abruptly.”

Celegorm noticed she again seemed very depressed and wondered to himself if their meeting at Mereth Aderthad was more than just introductions as his brother had informed him. Deciding to start with the beginning, he asked her. “Kalin, have you ever met Maedhros face to face?”

She tilted her head almost to say no, but then nodded, looking away so as to not meet his inquisitive gaze. “I was at the Feast of Reuniting and met him very quickly before we all swore the oath of friendship. I only learned his name and he mine. It was very brief.”

The edhel massaged a hand over his eyes before looking at her with an attempt at an encouraging expression and Mîrluiniel took it for what it was, an attempt. “Well, my impetuous brother is now on his merry way to his fortress on Himring, so it may happen that you will not have these dreams near as often. My lady, I beg you speak openly with I, or my brother, about anything you wish. I understand your desire to keep your homeland concealed for now, but anything you _do_ want to express, you are most certainly free to do so. For a while, at least, this is your home. I welcome you, lady Kalin.”

With a delightful blush to her sun-deprived cheeks, Mîrluiniel thanked him and promised to make good on his offer of confidence.

“Well, you’re a lovely elleth and our encampment could use a feminine eye and voice once you recover properly.” He mentioned subtly the idea of her remaining, even once healed, as he situated her with blankets and pillows to her liking. “But to recover, you must do as I say, and now I am saying _rest_. Think of music, or dancing, or whatever you like, and sleep well, Kalin.”

With a smile he left and Kalin sincerely considered what was presented before her. She wondered if it was the brother he had consulted with earlier that day that had advised him it would be acceptable for her to stay. In any case she hoped she would be allowed to stay through the winter in which it would be impractical to travel anywhere far. Though she imagined if they had a _mind_ to do it, the sons of Fëanor could, and would, do anything no matter the circumstances or weather. The actions of Fëanor’s house were brought to mind for the first _real_ time since she’d arrived and under the covers, Mîrluiniel grimaced reluctantly.

There was a _reason_ her King Elu Thingol and all of Doriath despised Fëanor and his offspring. The killings of Alqualondë, burning the ships at Losgar; there weren’t many reasons to trust them at _all_ , yet her fëa disputed everything said against them and sought to tell her they _could_ be trusted in her case. The brothers that she’d met had been nothing but kind to her, gentle and respectful. If their father had been any other Noldo, she was certain her atar would approve of those that now cared for his only daughter and youngest child.

Deciding not to judge the edhil by things done long ago, she remembered the oath she had taken at the High King’s Feast where her words spoke of friendship with all Noldorin people and she remembered the conviction with which those words were released from her young lips. Mîrluiniel knew she still held that conviction within her and smiled when she realized these Noldo also honored the oath that their leader had vowed for them by the action of saving her life. She would stay with them as long as she was able, and learn everything she could to be of help and assistance to them, not a hindrance.

 

Galloping across Himlad at a good pace, Maedhros paid little heed to the surroundings beyond Rúnya’s mane flicking his face in the wind of their movement and the grip of his strong legs on either side of the animal’s girth beneath him. Kalin’s voice speaking his name haunted every thought like the echo of his sword hitting his back with every gait of the stallion’s legs. He needed his closest brother’s counsel, to end the war within himself over his feelings and actions toward Kalin. His fëa begged him to go to her, for what reason he knew not; it told him only that she was so imperative to his being, promising his hopeful heart a peace he’d not claimed since elflinghood. Could this elleth he only knew the _name_ of, promise to be of such meaning to him in so short a span of time?

It all seemed too improbable for his logical mind to consider being hale. He did not want to believe something that would fail in its promises. His father had inadvertently taught him hundreds of years ago at Losgar, how naive and ignorant his mind could be, and how it would not serve him well under such command; thinking that they would return for the other exiled elves, their cousins and relations. He had hated his father that day but even more he had hated _himself_ for being so stupid, and still hated himself for too many things. Destruction of himself and those around him would always follow too close on his heels as long as he lived; never would he willingly subject one as lovely as Kalin to the curse of his presence or ardor.

The wind of evening began to bite uncaringly through his clothes and skin, pricking his cheeks with needles until he was aware enough to realize that Telperion was already high. He should rest, the next late night would see him in his own bed if he pushed hard enough. And his horse, faithful though he was to his master’s commands, still needed energy while his heart was young and his legs long. Guiding Rúnyadal to a small knoll of trees near to the river, he dismounted smoothly and let the horse drink for himself while he knelt down by its banks and splashed the frigid water onto his face and through his hair. Aside from clearing his eyes of the sand kicked up on the ride, the motion served to be no help concerning his alertness and Maedhros unpacked his belongings only enough to have his sword by his side before lying down on some softer earth.

Rúnyadal took his place standing beside his master and watched the flame-haired Noldo slip unwillingly into a well-needed sleep. Maedhros did not currently desire rest, for even a little unconsciousness summoned dreams which would always strip away his carefully laid layers of self-control and denial. Before he could adjust to anything, his mother’s lovely voice summoned her eldest child to attention and he found himself in Fingolfin’s realm at Mereth Aderthad, gazing at an image of Kalin as she stood alone sipping sweet wine while others danced in a clearing outside. “Maitimo, is that her? She’s very comely.” His mother came behind him and rested her cheek on his strong arm as one of her elegant hands stroked the long hair partially braided down his back.

He nodded and stood with his naneth watching her, as if it was perfectly all right to be staring so openly. “Her name is Kalin, do you like her?” He asked innocently and truthfully, not hiding anything from her who knew and loved him most unconditionally.

“I like her very much, my son. Will you tell her you, also, like her?”

Finally he was able to draw his eyes away from the beauty of Kalin’s unassuming grace and turned away from even his mother though she kept contact by holding his hand. “Naneth, I cannot… and you know why.”

“Pretend I do _not_ know, Maitimo. Why can you not pursue and love this elleth?”

He sighed and chanced a look up to where Kalin remained in solitude, unable to withdraw his gaze this time for she also glanced toward him before looking down in a shy manner, blushing delightfully. “Because my love for her will only cause grief. Atar’s oath is a curse on all whom I care for, this you know… I have no wish to harm anyone so exquisite and pure by my own selfishness or feigned ignorance of the terrible things I have done or may do because of my quest for the Silmarils. I will not force her love me, for I deserve none.”

Nerdanel was saddened by her son’s self-neglect and the solitude he thought himself bound to because of her late husband’s oath that bound all her children. Gently she took her eldest son’s face in her hands since he had again looked away from Kalin and brought his eyes to meet her steady emerald gaze with a loving smile. “My dear one, have you not thought that perhaps it is out of your hands? You know I do not believe in coincidence. I trust that Eru and the Valar have our entire lives planned and you met this elleth for a _reason_ , not by chance. Your brother found her just in time, healed her, and is taking care of her now because it was _meant_ to happen. Do not scorn Celegorm in this, my son, for I foresee that it may very well be the last act of good he commits.” She brought her eyes to the clasps of his tunic and unfastened one to her satisfaction before looking in her child’s like green eyes once more. “Think on what I’ve told you, Maitimo. Sleep well and know that I love you, my son.” She pulled him down to kiss his forehead motherly and stepped back as his vision faded into black oblivion and his mind turned off at last to allow true slumber.


	3. So Many Secrets to be Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork for this chapter... on my DeviantART. ^_^
> 
> http://iluvobiwan91.deviantart.com/art/Maedhros-on-his-steed-Runyadal-122126002?q=gallery%3Ailuvobiwan91%2F1558228&qo=42

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 3** /?

 **Chapter Summary:** “ _Yes, Maedhros would do well with someone like Kalin to make him happy. And she_ would _make him happy.”_

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. =]

 

Mîrluiniel awoke early to the feel of some movement at the end of the bed and managed to turn enough to see two little hands fisted in the blankets. With a struggle, one tiny bare foot hiked up and helped to pull an elfling with mussed golden-brown hair, belly down on the surface at last. She fought back a painful giggle to see the satisfied grin on his pudgy face once he’d got to the top. He finally turned to her and regarded her curiously, crawling up to kneel very close to her face so that he could look into her eyes with his large grey-blue orbs, eventually smiling adorably in response to her initial grin. The little one touched her face as if to make sure she was different than his other toys, and Mîrluiniel made herself sit up to better accommodate his diaper-clad form in her lap. She experienced the disabling aspect of having no left hand for the first time, when she was unable to pick up the child and situate him as she wished.

“Celebrimbor! Come out _now_!” She heard Curufin shout outside for whom she ascertained to be the child atop her, and laughed softly before assisting him under her covers to further hide from her caregiver. “Celebrimbor… hide and seek is over, come out!” His semi-threatening voice came closer to her tent, introducing his presence before the elf himself at last entered with a searching eye and crossed his arms at the pitiful sight before him. Mîrluiniel placed her right hand over the wriggling lump at her side and drummed her fingers against it inconspicuously, eliciting even more squirming and a muffled giggle as she tried to keep up her façade of innocence. “Kalin, my son is not bothering you, is he?” Curufin first asked politely.

She only smirked coyly. “I didn’t know you _had_ a son, Curufin. But I’m afraid there is no one, and nothing, here to bother me. He must be elsewhere.” Again the giggling ensued and Curufin, himself, could hardly repress a grin of his own, one that she noted matched very closely to his little one’s.

With an over-dramatic sigh, he neared the mattress and motioned for her to keep silent. As his fingers slid under the hem of the blankets, he made a show with his voice, playing along with her and his son’s antics. “Well, I guess I shall just have to learn to live without him!” He ripped the covers back in a swirl of movement and Celebrimbor shrieked in surprise and delight as his atar scooped him in his grasp and threw him high, almost brushing the canvas ceiling of the tent. “ _Gotcha_! Now I have to come up with _twice_ the punishment, now that you’ve persuaded this innocent to be your cohort.” Curufin propped the elfling under his arm like luggage and looked to Mîrluiniel expectantly as she chuckled at his son’s reddened face.

“Now, that’s not very fair, what can you take from me for such a thing? I already am bound to this bed and am not capable of doing any _real_ mischief.” She put a pout on her face and begged ‘mercy’ of Curufin as he contemplated.

“What think you, my son? Is she worth saving from my ire?” The father considered with his young one and set the lad on the edge of her mattress gently, so as not to jar her with the bounce of tossing him there. Sweetly, he kept his blue-grey eyes on his atar and leaned over to take Mîrluiniel’s hand and press his cheek to it. Pleasantly surprised by this reaction, she smiled at the young one’s affectionate behavior and instinctively stroked his soft face with her fingers. “Ah, I see how it is.” Curufin grinned with hands on his hips and then looked to her more seriously. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse his lack of response until he grows out of it. He’s not said a word as yet, where one of his age should already be talking constantly. No matter how I’ve tried to coax even a _syllable_ out of him, I’ve received naught for any of it.” He turned expressly to the little one and wagged his dirty foot to get his attention. “Celebrimbor, this is _Kalin_.” He gestured to the elleth. “Will you tell her good bye?” Curufin could only roll his eyes as the elfling crawled closer and proceeded to give her a very quick and sloppy kiss on the cheek, joining his atar on the ground and waving to her.

“I’ll _only_ excuse his silence if he will come and see me whenever he is able. He’s certainly cheered me up, I’ve enjoyed the company.” She waved back to the child as he grinned at her with an adorably toothy smile for his small size. Curufin watched the exchange, bemused, and nodded his consent before asking her if she needed aught while he was with her. “No, I thank you. I think I’ll rest a while longer. But if you should have any books, I would love for something to do while I am awake.”

Replying that he would find her some, he acknowledged that Celegorm would probably be in before long with a meal to break her fast and Curufin at length exited the tent with his whimpering son in tow. “We will come again soon, my son.” The father assured his young one and they departed to finally grant the elleth some peaceful rest.

 

Yet as her body’s recovery was over time swiftly made, Mîrluiniel made sure she was pleasantly deprived of rest at every moment. Busying herself with everything and anything, she took on each task her caregivers allowed her to accomplish, or help with. Primarily, she was happily obliged to tutor and watch over Celebrimbor; as his father had not all of his time to devote to the young one’s tutelage, and was much of the time occupied with other matters. By the time a decade had passed in this manner, she was confident with her station in the brothers’ encampment and had grown surprisingly accustomed to performing things quite single handedly.

One morning saw her tending the young vegetable garden Celegorm had given her, and cultivated the plot for, while the ever growing son of her younger lord sat nearby tracing his grandfather’s tengwar on parchment. Having convinced him through encouragement, Mîrluiniel had gotten her ward to speak, not only to her, but also with all of the edhil in his home. She proudly noted that his relationships grew stronger by the day.

“Kalin? Will you show me how you write your name, again?” The twelve year-old requested of her and she stood up to go over to him with a smile, her blue eyes gleaming brightly in the midday light of Laurelin’s rays.

“And for what purpose would you have my name put upon your scroll, young one? You’ve seen it before.” Her gentle teasing always brought a light to his increasingly grey eyes. “Am I to unknowingly sign my life away to your services?” She brought a laugh out from his fair lips and knelt beside him in the newly grown grass.

“Of course not, Kalin! I just... I like how you do it. _Please_?” With a playful grin she consented and afterwards went back to removing unwanted weeds from her shrubs of ripened bounty. The sound of hooves thundering through the earth reached them quite suddenly, and Celebrimbor jumped up to see who was coming before pointing in excitement. “Look! My uncles have come from Himring! I’m going to tell Atar…” He ran swiftly on lengthening legs and left her to gather his forgotten schooling from the ground by herself.

Shaking her head at the eagerness with which he desired to please his father, she almost didn’t register _whom_ he had just announced the arrival of. Looking to where she heard the approach of their horses, she clearly saw at the head of the small group of warriors, _Maedhros_ , red hair ablaze in the sun as his proud steed carried him closer toward her with each long length of stride. He was a glorious sight in his glinting silver mail and sable breeches on the grey and charcoal stallion whose own withers were her same height.

Uncertain of how the great Noldo would respond to her presence, Mîrluiniel covered her missing appendage with Celebrimbor’s studies and bowed her head like the members of her lord’s staff-- as she considered herself to be-- letting them ride past her and onward to the tents of the actual settlement. She noted a dark-headed edhel, dressed similarly to the tallest of them, rode at the captain’s side when at last she looked up and they had ridden on. She supposed to herself that this must be another brother, since Celebrimbor had said clearly his ‘uncle _s_ ’ were coming from Himring. Perhaps Maglor? Or Caranthir? He fit more the description of the former, as she had heard from listening to her brother and Artanis’ conversations of the world outside Menegroth. Fleetingly, she wondered if she would hear a tune from his instrument or song from his famous voice during their stay.

Quickly she followed their trail of kicked up dust and ordered herself as a few edhil assisted her to gather tent preparations for their guests. Her friend, Veassen, took a full bucket of water for bathing in one strong arm and shared a basin full with Kalin’s well arm as they made their path to a newly made canvas chamber.

“Kalin, here are some changes of garment for our visitors.” A dark-haired elf named, Ruscion, approached with a pile of clothing and allowed her to unload her cargo of ready-to-boil water before he gave her the bundle. “Lord Celegorm asked me to request that you care for his eldest brother’s needs while he is here. Can you handle it, you think?” Mîrluiniel stopped only a moment in surprise at Celegorm’s favor, yet was quick to nod her acquiescence and Ruscion smiled warmly to her before leaving she and Veassen to ready the Noldorin princes’ quarters.

“You are certain you’re up to it, Kalin? The last time lord Maedhros was here in his brothers’ camp his mood brokered no difference. And from what I understood from everyone’s talk, not long after you came to us, he was convinced to leave quite abruptly by your form of rescue.” He gestured to her lack of left hand with a nod as he sparked a flame underneath the cauldron of water.

Mîrluiniel rolled nervous blue eyes to her boyish friend, and shrugged off his warnings of previously heard gossip. “That is _hardly_ helpful, Veassen. I’ll be fine, I thank you.” Shaking her head she walked away from him and into the nearby tent where edhil were making a bed and laying rugs over the hardening autumn ground. Resting her load on the end of the mattress, Kalin focused on readying the room for her temporary charge. ‘There will be nothing to worry about.’ She assured herself, mentally preparing. It was simply chance he happened to have once been the heir to the High King’s throne… and the subject of her rare, yet fascinatingly detailed, dreams.

 

“Celebrimbor! You’re growing as fast as the Second Born by the height you were last I saw my dear nephew.” Maglor exclaimed to his brother’s son and scooped the lad into his arms with a laugh from them both. “What has your father been feeding you? Surely not _his_ wretched cooking.”

The young one laughed harder and shook his head emphatically, answering his Uncle honestly. “No, Kalin makes us lots of food! I like _hers_.”

Maedhros visibly stiffened near them and glanced to Curufin and Celegorm, the latter crossing his arms while the former only nodded with a smile, welcoming his older brothers warmly in contrast to the quickly chilling weather outside.

“She remains in your camp, then?” The eldest of them asked with a pointed look to Celegorm, who chose not to look in any way guilty.

“She’s done quite well in her recovery. _Subsequently_ , also, by keeping busy as Celebrimbor’s teacher.” His explanation was calm and Celebrimbor grinned all the while, wordlessly expressing his joy with Kalin’s situation as his guardian and only motherly figure.

Maglor tugged the elfling’s braids and looked to his brothers inquiringly. “I’ve heard only little of this Kalin. Has she still not revealed her homeland?”

Curufin shook his head and took Celebrimbor by the shoulders as the lad came to stand before him. “No, though I confess we would be sad to see her go, at this point. She’s worked her way into our lives, so much so that _some_ of us could not do without her, I think.” He squeezed his son for emphasis and the elfling blushed, kicking his feet in embarrassment.

“Shall we meet the maiden, this eve?” Maglor asked amiably as he handed away his long bow and quiver to an edhel awaiting him.

“She should be in shortly to help serve the meal. You are correct that it’s not been _my_ cooking that encourages your nephew to grow.”

Not long after they had seated themselves, a wholesome smell preceded her entrance and Kalin came in with a tray of stuffed mushrooms in her left elbow and a pair of wooden tongs in her hand ready to serve. With a deceptively calm smile-- for her insides inexplicably took flight as soon as she entered the room of Fëanorians-- she gave Celegorm and Curufin their portions of the delectably filled foraged-for vegetables and bowed respectfully to Maglor as she also served him some.

The high elf did the honors of his own introductions with an affectionate smile. “It gives me great satisfaction to meet you at _last_ , Kalin. You may already have been informed, but I am called Maglor.”

“I had not been told, my lord, and it is my pleasure to meet you.” Maedhros paid close attention to her movements and realized only then how long it had been since he had thought of her in anything other than a passing dream. He felt proud of how well she conducted herself and the grace with which she moved even in spite of her amputation, which had claimed a great deal of her forearm as well as her left hand. Kalin bowed just as respectfully to him, and he watched several small curls fall over her eyes from her loose braid as she leaned forward to place the mushrooms on his plate; careful, so it seemed, to keep her gaze politely away from his.

Ignoring nearly all else whenever she came into the room to serve, Maedhros studied her posture, her dexterity of movement, noted how, and how _well_ she did everything that could possibly have any association with the handicap of her arm; assessing how disciplined she had been in re-teaching herself how to function. He tried and failed miserably to end the infatuation he felt growing the more she appeared at his side, or simply came within his view. He could not withhold that she was beautiful to his eyes, and found himself unable to control the fluttering warmth that filled him whenever her bright gaze fell to his. No matter how he _wished_ to nurture this growing affection, however, he knew it must soon be quelled.

“Kalin, can you take my son to bed, please? I’ll be in to settle him after a while.” Curufin requested of her and, with a smile, she took the drowsing child into capable arms, guiding him out of the tent as he leaned heavily upon her, unused to so late an hour. It was only a moment before Maedhros found some excuse to also remove from the tent of his brothers and he strode out into the chilled evening in the direction of his nephew and brother’s shared rooms.

“… Then perhaps you should pray for Manwë to still his great winds tonight. Do you want me to pray with you?” He heard her sweet voice speaking patiently to the twelve-year-old elfling in his bed and Maedhros neared the canvas entrance to listen closer.

“But I don’t know what to say, Kalin. Can you do it for me?”

With a sigh, she acquiesced, but informed him. “I will only do it once, to show you. You must pray on your own from hereafter, yes?” A silent moment seemed to insure that he would, and she began. “Most powerful of the Valar, Manwë, please, we beseech you this night to stay some of your mighty breath so to keep Celebrimbor safe and unafraid during his dreams. We know you will do whatever is best for Eru’s children and we thank you for all your works.” The Noldo lord wondered at her faith in the ‘powerful’ Vala, and pondered his own swiftness to doubt them so easily at every turn. Could the Valar really hear such a small prayer?

“Good night, dear one. Atar will be here to tuck you in before long, but don’t wait up. He will likely talk with your uncles yet, and _you_ need to sleep.” Her voice was firm enough to allow no rebuttal and he heard a kiss being shared before a sleepy ‘good night’ was whispered and Kalin at last blew out the lantern.

Maedhros steeled himself for her exit and then watched for a moment as she made to fix her hair that had come out of place, standing still just outside the tent while she struggled without two hands to keep it right. Gathering more momentum than real _courage_ , he stepped behind her and used his left hand to assist her right and tucked some stray curls along with the rest.

She turned in slight surprise to face him and smiled, touching her neck consciously. “Thank you… It’s still an effort to manage a secure braid.”

He smirked, remembering his aggravation so long ago over the same incident and realized she was handling it much better than he ever did. He decided at last, as he had planned all along in the scheme of following her, to try a reintroduction, and inquired. “I’ve wanted to ask of you, if you remember our meeting quite some time ago at Mereth Atherdad. It was a very small one, but I recognized you when you first came to my brothers.”

She held onto her stunted arm in front of her and looked up to him from where she had been studying the missing hand, lightening his load to see her glowing blue gems meet his gaze in recognition. “I _do_ remember. I thought of it also, when I saw you for the first time, here. I believe you left not long afterward.” He grimaced inwardly at that hasty retreat and questioned now if that had been entirely necessary. Perhaps he could have spared himself a bit of the awkwardness he was experiencing at the present moment. A minute passed silently until Kalin tactfully asked, allowing him an option out if he were uncomfortable. “Shall I ready for you a bath, my lord? It would relax you if you were soon ready to retire. I believe you had a long journey?”

“It _was_ long, but I thank you, no. I’ll fetch a servant to do it.”

Ducking her head with a near hidden grin in the darkness, she slowly started to walk to his tent and responded. “Then I shall be off to start it for you, my lord, as _I_ am your servant this stay.”

 

Methodically, Mîrluiniel brought bucket upon bucket of prepared water to his large basin and poured also a small portion of scented oil into the steaming bath, mirroring on a larger scale what she would have done for Celebrimbor at the end of any day in which he had played particularly hard. Which often happened daily. She was somewhat ashamed of her _own_ smell once she thought of it. Working all day to clean out her garden and harvest a little, then helping to direct and conduct the cooking and serving the meal, dust from the Noldorin edhil entering the camp she felt both behind her pointed ears and _in_ them. A bath of her own was sounding increasingly tempting.

Turning from her chore, she saw a lean hound trot in with a wagging tail and sloped back, eagerly coming to lean against her thigh once he was in. Wiping her hand on her apron, she pet the dog affectionately, loving to give attention.

“Taurvantian, _come_.” Maedhros’ voice commanded the canine away from her side and, obediently, though with a whimper, he returned to his master and sat on the rug before him as the tall edhel removed his outer cloak. “Thank you for tending the water, lady. You may go and care for yourself. Good eve.” He bid her to leave and began unbuckling his sword belt with one hand, facing away from her.

Somewhat taken aback by his abrupt dismissal, Mîrluiniel stood for a moment with nothing to do and managed to ask in clarification. “Are you certain I cannot aid you, my lord? Lord Celegorm said that…”

“I have been perfectly capable to tend myself for centuries, my lady. I thank you again for your offer, but allow me to politely refuse it.” Again shocked by such a terse answer, she barely registered to curtsey and bid him a ‘good eve’ before exiting the temporary dwelling. Taurvantian inched closer to the tent flap through which the elleth had just left and whimpered again, as if repining her loss. “Be still, Vant. You will see her again. But she will do no more in this tent.” Maedhros spoke to his hound and wriggled out of his jerkin and chain mail uneasily, then pulling off the thin shirt that lay underneath it all.

He eyed the copper basin full of scalding water and warily stepped towards it to brush his fingers along the steaming surface. Unbidden, terrible memories arose before his eyes of Morgoth’s tortures; boiling oil vats, thin whips made of red-hot chains cracking over his bare body, tearing of skin and searing of flesh. Jerking his hand out of the liquid with a gasp of remembered pain, Maedhros stood tense and panting for breath as he struggled to reclaim the control he frequently clung to by at least a thread.

He glanced down at the feel of Taurvantian’s comforting paws over his boot. His posture finally relaxed and, with trembling limbs, he knelt down to scratch the lanky hound’s ears, perked with concern for his master. “I’m fine now, lad.” Tentatively, he passed his stunted forearm along his side where deep lash and burn scars would ever remain to plague him. “Perhaps I’ll wait for my soak until it is cooled.” His murmur hinted at the unsettlement in his mind and he stood to order his belongings.

‘Vant’ was the only soul he would subject the horrors of his memories to. _Maglor_ did not even know the atrocities of his mind; and not only was he certain Kalin would blench and flee at the sight of his wretched scars upon scars, but he knew the haunting and nightmares of his imprisonment would frighten or wear on her so much as to make her miserable in his presence. Maedhros couldn’t force her to live with him and suffer through his defects, neither mental nor physical.

 

Mîrluiniel strode outto the roofless stables of her lords’ owning as she often did during the night, walking between the wooden-made paddocks and corrals filled with well-bred horses. Letting a few of her favorites lick simple syrup from her palm, she went over to the arena that was often used for training, but tonight housed the visiting elves’ steeds. One in particular studied her closely, coming up to her as she pulled herself to the lowest rung.

“Hello, lad. Look at you, how tall and handsome. I’m sorry, I haven’t any sweets left.” She spoke calmly to the great stallion, admiring his intelligent head and attentive ears. His colorings were variations of grey and black, from dappled on his hindquarters, to increasingly dark upon his legs and head, finishing with his mane and tail in a striking black. “Do you know you put to mind my old mare, Randiriel? She was such a pretty thing. Her build was close to yours, though perhaps not as robust; but she was as white as snow, with blue eyes. My brothers called her an ‘albino,’ but I always thought her too lovely for such an unfeeling term.” Mîrluiniel continued as the young stallion allowed her to rub his face and pet his neck, his large nostrils flaring as he sniffed her stunted arm.

While she talked to the animal, a song from long ago feasting came to mind and her voice lilted softly to sing with the music of the earth. The lyrics thanked the Valar for all living things, animals, and plants; speaking of cycles, of cleansing death, and renewing birth that the elves watched and observed, but rarely partook of unless so wounded a fëa called them to Mandos. Pressing her brow to the horse’s long face, she felt a connection between her and the creature, and therefore was alert as he was when he directed his ears to another sound and she turned to find the source in lord Maglor’s accompanying voice.

The edhel walked to her and placed a large hand on the animal as their two voices finished the lay and he smiled warmly in greeting, his eyes shining with the light of the Two Trees long lost in Valinor. “I have known few of the Noldor to sing so lovely a song of the Sindar, my lady. _Your_ accent is far more perfect for such a song than any foreigner such as _myself_ could try and equal.” His look was perceptive, almost frighteningly more so than she was accustomed to, yet she judged it not to be a threat.

She eyed him warily, unsure of how he might proceed with the information of her native people. “My lord can see easily I am not of his blood. I thank your for your compliments, for whatever use they were spoken.”

His grin eased her and he inclined his head. “My compliments were spoken with all honesty from the heart. I admire speech and dialect as one who would blend it into song and sonnet. The secret of your bloodline shall remain safe with me, my lady, if you wish it to remain so concealed. Though I must confess I think my brothers and their men have turned quite a blind eye and deaf ear to you, just so that you could remain. Your accent and fair head are enough to ensure your being a Sindar.” His smile broadened as she let out a soft laugh and nodded in agreement with his musings. “You’ve been great good to them, my nephew especially, and I wish to thank you for it. The young one, in particular, for I have never heard him speak, nor laugh, so much since his birth.”

“Yes, he was so very quiet when I first met him. But I have done nothing to force him. When I first heard his tiny voice, he was singing _me_ a lullaby to calm me from a dream. I have never heard a sweeter sound than his little song.”

Maglor put a hand on his chest dramatically. “Alas! Am I to compete with a _babe_ for the sweetest music this maiden has ever heard! How can I possibly compare with such?” Laughing happily, she let him assist her down from the fence and he naturally linked her arm within the crook of his elbow to draw her for a walk. Before he could pull her away from the gate completely, Mîrluiniel reached out her maimed left arm and gave the great charger’s cheek a good-bye caress. “You take a liking to Rúnyadal? He has been one of my brother’s calmest horses to train.” Maglor remarked as they came away from the animals and she looked back to the horse while she inquired ‘which’ brother. “Oh, he belongs to Maedhros. Rúnya will be three winters old come festival, he was named such for how he kicked out of his mother’s womb and the fevers he had that first cold night.”

The elleth smiled faintly and then frowned when she remembered the same brother’s hasty dismissal of her aid earlier that night. A moment of silence passed as they skirted the same paddock and Maglor reached out to stroke the neck of his drowsing mare, a deep brown bay with even darker black dappling along her back and hindquarters.

“My lord…” Kalin broke their comfortable silence. “Is it improper for me to ask about your elder brother?” She tested and the brunette elf shook his head, giving her his attention in a receptive manner. “Does lord Maedhros shun _everyone’s_ personal attention, or is it my _own_ company he wishes to have no part of? Lord Celegorm asked me to tend him during your stay as any servant would; yet he proclaimed himself completely independent and sent me away. Have I offended him?”

Maglor chuckled and looked to the stars with a sigh before assuring her. “Nay, I promise you, you are not the only elf to be dismissed for trying to help my brother. I apologize for his behavior, Kalin. Whether he can do it or not on his own, he has always been too proud to accept assistance other than by force or clever persuasion.”

Feeling relieved to know she had not done anything inadvertently wrong, Mîrluiniel thought of the Noldorin prince differently, and remembered-- with a flush of color to her cheeks-- how long during her service of the meal his eyes and piercing gaze had followed her. She hoped she had been _less_ noticeable when her own eyes had drifted toward his powerful presence. In front of so many of his brothers, it would have only been too mortifying.

“I must forewarn you, my lady…” Maglor began, preparing her knowingly. “That even with as high a regard as he holds for you, his own nature may not _allow_ him to pursue you. He has always kept away from ellith simply for the desire to protect them from himself. Such a claim has remained unfounded, yet ever since taking our father’s oath… Maedhros has not strayed from his strict rules of manner.”

Surprised by how accurately he had followed her thoughts, she turned to him and then away again as she processed the content of what had just been explained to her. “So he would force his own unhappiness instead of risking another’s?”

Maglor sighed, but nodded that her conclusion was true. “Maedhros is very well known for putting others before himself, to a fault. But he is our captain, and a good elf to those who know him. Ah, but the only way to see the _true_ Maedhros, is through his horsemanship.” Mîrluiniel’s eyes lit up at the mention of such, and her reaction did not go unnoticed by the edhel on her right. He raised an eyebrow attractively and tilted his head to better see her face. “So my lady’s love of horses does not end with singing to them late at night? Do you ride?”

With a reluctant smile she shook her head and looked away, ashamed that she had not asked to ride at all since coming here. To be honest with herself, she knew she was too overwhelmed to start all over with such a crutch as a missing arm. “I, I have not since my horse was killed in the accident. I fear I lack the courage to learn it anew as… as I am now.” Subtly lifting her left arm to underline her meaning, Maglor witnessed what may have been her only insecurity concerting the amputation.

Seeking to cheer her once again, he offered encouragingly. “Well, if I’ve learned anything from my brother’s example, it’s that one can learn _any_ thing a second time, and under more challenging circumstances.”

Finally she smiled softly for him and looked up, her bright blue eyes glowing happily in the darkness and he thought them filled with every bit as much light as the Eldar. “I thank you, my lord, I’ve greatly enjoyed our walk. I will ask you to excuse me so that I may check on Celebrimbor before I retire, myself.” Gracefully, she slid from his warm grasp and bowed her shining head.

“Good eve, Kalin. Tell my nephew to dream sweetly.” Smiling, she nodded and turned away toward the young one’s tent. Maglor watched her retreat until she went inside and then turned himself to where his younger brother would be with his great hound of legend.

He entered the dwelling nonchalantly and sat across from where Celegorm hunched over a boot to be oiled. “You know you should not have asked Kalin to tend our dear brother, Cel. He dismissed her like anyone else. And he _is_ attracted to the elleth, which may cause his temper to flare higher once he finds it was your doing.”

Cel only continued treating his leather as he responded. “No doubt he already knows ‘twas I. As good as she is at concealing her home and heritage from us; she is _terrible_ at concealing any other truth. But this sort of thing is good for Maedhros! If anyone needs a woman, it’s him.”

Maglor leaned back his head upon the fur covered ‘throne’ made part of wood and wool, part of antlers. “Yes, Maedhros would do well with someone like Kalin to make him happy. And she _would_ make him happy. By the way his eyes never left her during our meal, we can clearly see that much. Yet he has himself _so_ convinced he would bring either harm or misery to any elleth within reach that he may _never_ take to wife.” In defeat, the second-born sighed and his younger sibling glanced up briefly to note his exasperated body language, a reaction he had already guessed from assuming the same position, himself, numerous times since Kalin’s arrival.

“Why must we leave it up to Maedhros?”

Maglor looked to his brother curiously.

Taking the reaction as his opening, Cel explained. “Kalin is not _helpless_. She has taught and encouraged our nephew-- who would not have called ‘ _help_ ’ if a bear had him by the neck, but ten years ago-- to _talk_ and interact like a normal elfling again. Why, if given enough time, could she not also take the bricks from our brother’s so carefully laid walls?”

The elder of them tilted his head, contemplating the proposition Celegorm had presented, and shrugged. “So we are to continue on as before and hope that _Kalin_ pursues _him_ , and not the other way around?”

The younger stroked his oiled cloth along the boot a few more times and thought out loud. “Perhaps we could send her back with you to Himring, as well to… _encourage_ more time in each other’s company?”

Maglor eyed his blonde, scheming, sibling and warned with some forethought. “Careful with your match-making, my brother, Maedhros is like to a stubborn horse; if he senses this push, he _will_ push back… he does nothing half-heartedly. And by your move tonight, you’ve already forewarned him of your intentions.”

“But they are not only _my_ intentions, _are_ they, Maglor?”

The elder sent his brother a ‘don’t test me’ look and rolled his right hand to stretch the wrist. Standing, Maglor walked over to the patiently observing hound, Huan, and scratched under a chin the size of a mule’s. “It is yet early in our visit, Cel. Why don’t we wait a week at the _least_ , before we begin strategizing our brother’s love life?”

With an accomplished grin, Celegorm set down one boot for another and glanced up to Maglor before he left. “Good night, Kano.” Pausing at the old name of his father’s calling, Maglor smiled reminiscently and bid his brother a good eve.


	4. It is a Long Way Through Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter... on my DeviantART. ^_^
> 
> http://iluvobiwan91.deviantart.com/art/Maglor-Kissy-Cheek-188277144?q=gallery%3Ailuvobiwan91%2F1558228&qo=32

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 4** /?

 **Chapter Summary:** He could never truly appreciate her beauty and elegance the way he desired so fervently to; and that, he knew would regrettably never occur, for concern for her well-being and that of anything that was to come from such a union.

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. ಠ_ಠ

 

Maedhros felt the taut leather grip of the hand-and-a-half sword in his grasp, and the burn of withheld tears stinging in his eyes. Lips pressed desperately against his and he returned their urgent caress as tears belonging to another trailed down his cheeks. Just as the warmth of that sad presence was taken from him, his vibrant green eyes opened and took in the miserable sight of Kalin, weeping and being pulled away by some faceless edhel. Calling out her name as a nearby fire lit up her face, Maedhros struggled and tried to move himself, to call her name louder and take her back within his grasp but could not force himself to budge one muscle.

His waking eyes opened then and the Fëanorian was finally allowed the functions of his own body that in the dream had been denied. Every muscle flexed and he sat upright in a raging sweat amidst his furs, a tense voice hardly recognizable called brokenly for the elleth, fear of inability stressing his vocals to crack. In his post-unconscious blindness he felt his right arm being held, and fingers more delicate than an edhel’s, stroking where his hand had once been.

“Lord Maedhros… Maedhros, I am here.” A familiar lady’s voice drew his eyes, blood-shot and moist, to his right side where Kalin sat with a furrowed brow and concerned blue gems to look back at him with. Panting for several moments longer as his mind’s discernment refocused, he couldn’t help but question if this was reality or also a vision. “It’s all right now.” She continued. “Your dream is over and the sun will rise soon so darkness can not find you.” Soothing him with a maternal instinct, she moved her hand from his arm to push the sweat-soaked hair covering his eyes from her sight. Her palm stroked his face in the natural movement, yet with care. For, while she knew physical touch was a great comfort for her when she came out of any fright, she was unsure as to how he would respond.

Gradually, she saw his muscles relax and his breathing slow, though his heart kept its insistent thudding in his chest and the boiling of his blood only calmed to a low fever. They held one another’s gaze overlong: Maedhros’ questioning and overwhelmed, Kalin’s understanding and only slightly less worried.

With a gentle press of her hand and not a word, she rose from his side and turned to take a wet rag from the untouched bath, wringing it out and shaking away the excess before returning to him. He watched her in a somewhat enthralled silence as she wiped the cool cloth along his hairline, moving coarse tresses to trail down his face and then to his heated neck and chest, soothing the burn that tormented his skin. Wrapping the wet fabric and tucking it around her left arm, she pushed his long tangled hair to one side and pulled back the mostly open tunic to wipe his upper back to down between his shoulder blades.

Shocked, Maedhros could not make himself pull away or recover his exposed flesh as she successfully calmed the stress he had experienced in the vision. At some point he found all of his voice again and mentioned what he’d been initially so overcome by. “Why did you touch my arm while I was yet asleep? I could have killed you without a thought.”

Kalin continued to wash the back he had clearly not washed himself the night prior, and carefully went over both indented and severely raised scars shaped like barbed metal on his shoulder blade, just a few among hundreds of others that she studied as she sought an answer that would not be stupid to hear. Why not the truth, then? “I trusted you wouldn’t.” Her soft reply was met with a snort of scoffing that reminded her who she was talking to, and Mîrluiniel made certain not to meet his eye so as to conceal her disappointment at his becoming ‘self-sufficient’ again.

“You put your trust in others too quickly.” His remark was bitter, affecting a tilt of her face and she stilled her arm for a moment, causing him to look at her and meet an honest azure gaze, no judgment, as he would have thought.

“Perhaps everyone should trust more quickly. Illúvatar made us all good, it was Morgoth that sowed grief and distrust in our hearts.”

Maedhros was moved by the validity of her words, and then angered at how deeply the truth of them cut into his thought. ‘The sins of the fathers will pass on through their children, and to their children thereafter.’ The words of his grandfather, Finwë, warned him with the foresight he had shared not long before his murder. Maedhros constantly reminded himself of its truth. Fëanor had damned his seed by the countless crimes of distrust he’d committed and encouraged his sons to commit. And now his eldest son was ever cautious to trust.

She was right, he admitted. If everyone trusted instantly one another, then there would never have been a division of elves nor Kinslaying in any region under the Two Trees’ light. Instead of arguing between civil feuds, all would work together to defeat Morgoth and restore the light in Valinor.

Kalin’s cloth grew dry and she left him to dip it in the water once more. Turned away now, Maedhros felt her warmth leave him and a vision from the dream filled his eyes of her being taken away and he quelled the instinct to gasp out her name. He was shocked back into reality by a newly wet rag placed and stroked against his shoulder, beads of sweat already forming about his neck and brow from the momentary distress.

She noticed him flinch as she began again to cool him and asked quietly, pulling away in anticipation of his answer. “Would you like me to leave?” With his back facing her, she did not see his eyes close nor his dry mouth open to try and regulate his breathing.

Kalin did, however, feel his arm press against her knee in a silent plea to remain, his face jerking away slightly as he answered. “No.” His voice rasped until some control was regained, and he requested. “No… please continue what you were doing.” With a nod she returned the cloth to his back and massaged his shoulders one at a time through the damp material. Some minutes passed before he relaxed his body again and laid his arm by her leg, close enough to feel the warmth of her blood, but not quite touching.

“May I ask of what you dreamt, my lord?” Calmly, she began, but immediately the very mention of it called his body to tense up and he stiffened.

“You may ask, but I would not tell you, my lady.” They remained silent for another time and the elf allowed himself at last to rest, knee drawn up and arm upon it as his temple lay against the forearm. Mîrluiniel contented herself by continuing her massage and listening to his steady breathing as it finally became so.

Her voice remembered a lullaby that her ada had often sung her to sleep with, and she sang so without inhibition now that the Noldorin prince was at last asleep. Easing her hand, no longer the cloth, over his shoulders and down his back, she pulled the thin shirt up higher so that he was again covered and combed her fingers through his hair enough to untangle it just a little. Carefully Mîrluiniel pushed his torso back onto her left arm and laid him down into the pillows and furs, turning his knee and pulling a thin blanket up halfway to his shoulder without him awakening.

Yes, she trusted him. By the way he called out her name earlier, she knew she was at that moment even more assured of that trust. It would be a long road, but she hoped, one that would eventually find its end.

 

Maedhros had the same nightmarish vision several times their first week in Himlad; although he was thankful to not have alerted anyone during the night as he had that first morning with Kalin. No matter if her presence had soothed him more quickly than his mother’s embrace would have centuries ago; her hand on him, even through the barrier of cloth, was too strong a temptation for him to even want to resist. He should have sent her away as soon as he had known her to be there, long before she saw his scarred flesh, let alone touch the gruesome skin without covering. Yet lo, she had seen it, had touched those markings that he had so carefully guarded from anyone’s sight for so long. And did she treat him differently, or pity him repulsively? He could not say that she had.

‘This is becoming dangerous now.’ He thought; worrying again over a future that had yet to, and may never, occur. ‘I’m growing too close, and my feelings… my feelings for her grow deeper almost daily.’ An obsession he refused to allow it to be called within himself, though that is what it very well may have been. He measured how long her touch lasted during actions as simple as a chance pet upon Taurvantian at the same time, halted everything he was doing whenever her voice in song during a chore reached his ears, tried to match the vibrancy of her eyes when she smiled to something physical, though as yet had come up with nothing that remotely compared.

Always when he questioned his reasons for keeping away from Kalin, he was reminded of his grandfather’s foreboding statement. ‘But surely there is some form of redemption for a father or son’s sins.’ He would ask, yet could his own ancestor be wrong? In the end, he swore again and again to himself, that never would he bind to her. To force her to live with his duty to the oath, to love him despite the terrible things he’d done that even he could barely live with, and to subject their children to the same heinous acts. He knew he could never ask so greatly of an elleth such as her; a beautiful flower that would surely wilt from his poisonous touch. She was not for his taking.

 

Mîrluiniel, also, was growing to hold more than just a high admiration for her Noldo charge with hair as dark as flame and a personality to match. Slowly, like a cautious animal seeking food from her palm, he would be near her for no reason, allow their skin to graze or touch when he granted almost no other physical contact. For all the expectancy of stealth in a Noldorin warrior, which she did not doubt he possessed on a hunt or during an ambush, she would feel his presence afar off or hear his feather-touch on the canvas of a tent she occupied. No matter if she looked directly into them or not, his intense green eyes were a tangible presence upon her when he stared or glanced in her direction, like an eagle’s plume dancing along her skin and fire igniting in its wake.

She had taken to watching him when he gave Celebrimbor his horseman lessons every day or so. Maglor had been correct in that Maedhros was most himself upon the back of a steed, and Mîrluiniel admitted to herself she had never seen anything more beautiful than that elf working perfectly with his animal. As Celebrimbor trotted gaily around a paddock on his skewbald pony, Maedhros would be in the middle ring upon Rúnyadal’s towering back, invisibly instructing the stallion to high-step, back and forward trot in diagonal lines, count, and run pacing in a graceful display of equestrian form.

When actively teaching Celebrimbor he was direct and held high standards for his nephew to achieve, while at the same time being mindful not to berate him when a mistake was made, understanding of the problems so as to give better advice. When it was something the elfling knew to do but would still forget, like keeping his heels down, he encouraged remembrance instead of rebuking forgetfulness. She wondered if this trait was a mirror of how Fëanor would teach his sons, or if Maedhros took extra measures to avoid his father’s teaching methods. Perhaps the inquiry could be asked of Maglor later.

It was a day like this when, eagerly, Celebrimbor rode up to her usual position on the fence where she observed and asked her with an adorable grin, his pointed ears sticking out awkwardly as the elleth knew, with reluctance, he would grow into. “Kalin! Uncle and I are going for a ride. Can you come with us, please? Please, please, please?”

“Celebrimbor. Give her a moment to answer you.” Maedhros reprimanded calmly as he trotted up beside his nephew and allowed Rúnya to drink from the water trough in front of them. “You are welcome to join us, Kalin.” He quietly forwarded the lad’s invitation.

“I don’t… I haven’t in so long, I…” She hesitated, not only for the sadness on the elfling’s face, but also because she so desperately missed riding. Mîrluiniel grew increasingly agitated with herself, as she was certain her desire to do so was writ all over her face. “I’m afraid not, young one. You’ll have fun with your Uncle, set off and I’ll tell your father that you’re going.” Quickly she made her exit before either of them could say anything else and struggled to keep her eyes lowered to hide the swiftly forming tears she could not control. Making to her garden after briefly instructing another edhel to inform lord Curufin of his son’s whereabouts, the elleth let out her overdue sobs of frustration and curled up against an old oak, beautiful in its remaining red leaves of fall that would soon to give way to barren branches and winter’s dryness.

It could be infuriating sometimes, her handicap, and this morning was not the first time tears had been shed over the disability’s effects. ‘What’s wrong with me?’ She hounded herself mercilessly. ‘Why must I be so afraid to re-learn? Lord Maedhros is the perfect example to show me that it can be done, and how much more has that elf been through than I? Surely if Morgoth, himself, could not take the prince’s love of horses away, then I should hardly let the effects of three wolves keep me away from mine!’

Her jaw set in determination, though still needing to let loose her anger, she turned and punched a fist hard into the root beside her, forcing new tears she gladly wept in place of the weak emotional ones from before. Striking once or twice more, the pain in her knuckles felt good to vent the quelled rage within herself, not often having a moment to truly do so whenever she felt like it. Though these moments of anger came very few and far between, hitting something or someone, usually her brothers, had always been her release. Someone’s temporary pain or her own tended to check the young elleth back into reality.

Inspecting her bruised knuckles, she sucked on a few open cuts and dabbed the rest on her apron before taking the cloth and wiping her eyes. “Get over this, Luin, you’re not doing yourself or anybody any good by moping around.” She righted herself and stood, shaking waist-high skirts free of dried leaves and dirt, hoping not to look entirely disheveled.

“’Luin?’ Is this an invisible friend of yours, or have I been wrongly introduced?” Maglor’s melodious voice came from behind her and she made the mistake of turning to him as soon as he used her father-name.

With a sigh, she lowered her gaze as one caught in a wrong act. “Will I be sent away?” Her voice asked softly.

The second eldest of Fëanor’s children neared her, soothing. “Nonsense. I said your secret would remain well hidden with me and so it shall, still.” He lifted her chin gently. “You truly wish to stay? Then here you shall be; and to everyone’s continued happiness, I can assure you. My only wish is to know your true name.”

Smiling, she once again dabbed her eyes and thanked him silently, explaining. “I did not lie, for my mother-name is Kalin; but only my eldest brother calls me by that since my Naneth faded. My father, and given name, is Mîrluiniel.”

He grinned then. “Ah, blue jewel… a fitting and beautiful name. Who, then, calls you ‘Luin?’ Aside from your own tongue, of course.”

She granted a smirk at his jest. “Another brother, but my family’s names I would still keep from you, even though my own you now know.”

He nodded in acceptance, and smiled playfully after a pause. Taking one step back and bowing as he would at court, Maglor took her hand in his to kiss the fingers. “It is an honor to meet you at long last, my lady Mîrluiniel.”

Laughing now, she curtsied low and responded in kind, fully aware of how to conduct herself royally. After all, her great Uncle still ruled in Doriath from the throne of Menegroth.

Not surprised in the least by her easily graceful manner, Maglor was sure to hold his kiss upon her hand longer than decorum called for and succeeded in bringing a crimson blush up her neck to fair cheeks.

“You are the most talented of flirts, my lord Maglor.”

“Aha! A title I am ever striving toward, and at last to have been granted it by so lovely a maiden.” Winking, he grinned broadly at her musical laugh and pulled her arm to link through his; choosing with purpose not to directly mention the bruised knuckles upon which he had earlier placed his lips, thinking he understood the reason as he had seen the frustrated scene from afar. “May I inquire as to why my dear lass was so troubled that she came to this tree and not to one of her own kind?” She remained silent. “Come now, don’t think I cannot see the tears you were weeping e’er I came to you.”

Sighing, she offered. “Would you believe me if I told you I simply injured myself?”

He patted her damaged hand through his elbow affectionately and answered. “Only partially.”

A smile. Subtle, but there on her rosy lips all the same. “I needed to release some frustration and I believe I’ve gotten over it now. I’m all right. It happens only rarely, but when it does I don’t often hold back, so I try to go somewhere by myself.”

“That is perfectly understandable. When all five of my younger brothers began to annoy me-- more than by accident, mind you-- I went to my music.” He laughed then at a thought. “No doubt that is surely some large reason for my being so proficient at it. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Mîrluiniel laughed also and thought of her brothers as well, now that he’d brought on the subject. She’d always gotten on better with Galathil, her eldest; but Celeborn being closer to her age knew her ribbons and which to pull at any time to aggravate her. She loved him dearly, but he tried her the hardest, and therefore received the harder blows of aggression. Mediating between them was often Galathil’s chore; and his efficiency at such only grew once he became married and sired a child of his own. Amazingly, even with an elleth to lavish attentions with in their courtship, Celeborn had still not stopped his provocations. Instead, he chose to become only more protective of his little sister, so as to keep her from every possible attention from the opposite sex… at all costs.

Kalin smiled to herself; if he could see how much male ‘attention’ she was receiving here, he would likely try to castrate them all. “You’ve put your aggravation to a much more productive use than I, then. I’ve tended to be a bit more… violent.”

He chuckled and parried. “Oh, do not think I was always the docile one, now. Whenever Maedhros pinned the boys in a wrestling match, it was always my name to be called out.” In jovial conversation with one another, Maglor and Mîrluiniel walked along the river for a leisurely hour until finally turning back and beginning their path that returned to camp. Something caused her to stop them well before the canvases of her current home came into view and she craned her ear to listen behind them.

Maglor, seeing her alert, also listened for a moment and inquired. “What is it, Kalin?”

She turned around out of his hold and looked into the distance from where they had just come. “I hear hooves, but… Maedhros knows Celebrimbor has not experience enough to gallop, they’re coming faster even than a run.”

Maglor stepped closer to her side and heard it as well. “Perhaps he decided to let him try it while they’re out of the paddock.” He offered, but she was already shaking her head.

“No, something isn’t right. And I can see now, it is only one horse. Celeb’s pony is not with him.” They shared a look of worry and Mîrluiniel strode forward to close the distance between them and Maedhros’ sprinting stallion.

“Aiya! Maedhros, what’s happened?” Maglor called out to his brother once he slowed Rúnyadal to a prancing halt and panic set in for Kalin, taking in the disheveled form of the lord out of breath and Celebrimbor lying limp against him, unconscious and soaked through.

Maedhros met her gaze with his own anxious eyes and explained hastily. “We were along the river bank when I had gone ahead and let him out of my sight. I heard his mare and once I turned, I saw the pony swimming rider-less to the shore and Celebrimbor under the river’s current.”

Maglor steadied the excited charger and slid the child from Rúnya’s back as his brother spoke, gently bringing his nephew to the ground before Mîrluiniel where she knelt and checked the lad’s vitals. His heartbeat was slow and she briefly took note of the elfling’s broken leg before placing the heel of her hand in a certain spot upon his unmoving chest and with her stunted arm also pushed in short, measured bursts. Tilting the child’s head back, the elves watched as she breathed air into his mouth and repeated the process twice more until Celebrimbor choked and she turned him on his side so that he could cough up the water constricting his lungs.

Mîrluiniel cried out happily and rubbed the young one’s back until his throat was cleared and he turned into her arms, crying in shock and pain from his broken bone. Tears of joy welled in her eyes as she stroked his sodden blonde hair and laughed softly just for the fact that he was alive and well, not unlike the happiness and relief that accompanies a newborn’s first wails of life. “Oh, Celeb… it’s all right now, dearest. You’re going to be fine.” She assured him motherly and looked up with a weepy laugh to the stunned faces of the child’s uncles looking on.

Blessing the mentors who had taught her such a technique in her healing lessons long ago, she shushed the slowly calming boy who still hiccupped into her chest. Finally soothed enough to snub and cough only occasionally, Celebrimbor looked up to her reddened eyes with his own, the two of them looking quite alike in that moment.

He spoke at last. “My leg hurts, Kalin. Where’s Atar? Where’s my pony?”

Breathing deeply with a remaining smile, she wiped his face with her skirts that remained yet dry and responded. “Your father is still at home, little one. And your leg is broken, but Atar will fix it and you will be feeling well by supper, I promise.”

With a fair, furrowed brow, he nodded and then turned to Maedhros. “Uncle, is Bellsui all right? Where is she?”

Kneeling down to squeeze his nephew’s hand, the elf stroked his head and assured him. “Yes, she is fine, young one. And while Maglor is taking you to your Atar, I shall fetch the pony and bring her back home, is that well?”

Smiling faintly through his troubled expression, the lad was taken into Maglor’s arms as he was bidden and set in Rúnyadal’s saddle once more while his uncle mounted up behind him, taking the reins to guide the horse smoothly home. Mîrluiniel touched Celebrimbor’s good leg and gave him a comforting grasp that was repaid in an encouraged smile before they started off in the opposite direction.

Maedhros turned, still dripping wet from rescuing the child, and addressed her. “I would rather you not return alone, my lady. I’ll be back shortly with this pony and we can go.” He offered politely but she shook her head and shrugged off the last of her quickly spent adrenaline, moving quickly to follow behind the Noldor prince.

“No, I’ll come with you. I don’t tire so easily and, like you suggested, I’d rather not be alone. Not at present, in any case.” He glanced at her sidelong as they walked and she kept her gaze downward. She held her left elbow in front of her with her right hand in an insecure posture and he couldn’t be sure if the elleth’s thoughts were replaying the rescue of moments ago, or if she was recalling another series of events less pleasant in ending.

He chanced an inquiry with thought to possibly take her mind off of those thoughts or memories in particular. “Where did you learn to return the breath like what you did for Celeb, just now? I’ve never seen anything like that, nor have it work so promptly.”

She looked up to him for a moment, and then away again while she thought of how to respond without revealing too much. “Ah, when I, learned the healing arts… my instructor taught me. I know not if many know such a technique. And it is quite possible for it to not be as prompt as you saw this day… indeed it is very possible for it not to perform well at all.” Mîrluiniel became silent for a moment afterwards until she looked ahead and put on a masked smile. “There she is.” Then, with a true smile of mirth that returned her countenance to its normal brilliancy, she turned to him with a quip. “Will you be riding her home, my lord?”

Maedhros grinned openly and allowed a gentle laugh, which she had never before then heard, and therefore delighted in. “Nay, my lady, I’m afraid I care little for the feel of my boots dragging upon the ground whilst I trot.” Laughing sweetly at his returned jest, Kalin watched as he walked ahead of her to take hold of the mainly black and white pony’s low-hanging reigns.

Mîrluiniel’s pleasant smile faded, however, when he turned to return to her and inadvertently revealed amongst his dripping garments a tear in the tunic under his right breast, a rough gash making its presence known with bright red blood staining the exposed flesh. She cursed herself for not having noticed it earlier and approached him with purpose, unknowingly putting him on the defensive.

As he deflected her, she wondered how he could be ignorant of such a wound and persisted, explaining. “Maedhros, you are hurt! I saw it just now. Please let me take care of it.” Still he evaded her and asked gently that she stop. “How can you not feel it? It’s right th…”

He gasped when she accidentally pushed against it and then told her firmly. “I know where it is, and I can, indeed, feel it, lady. I ask you again, let it be.” He took her hand by the wrist to stay the next attempt and she sighed.

Kalin took a breath before starting again, more calmly. “Forgive me, my lord. But it is not the kind of hurt to let heal on its own. Allow me to at least wrap it until more attention can be given. Besides, I have no needle and thread with me, so there’s no need to get upset on that account.” She looked steadily up at him again, with something of a maternal air that, in his opinion, became her quite well. But he didn’t want to so expose himself to her again; it had been a lapse in judgment on that first night. Yet by the knowing look on her fair features, it would be quite more than a struggle to keep her away.

At length, the gash began throbbing more abruptly and he felt it was not worth it to argue with this one any longer. Moreover, if their previous encounter with touch had been any indication, his pain would likely be vanished in but a moment. “I thank you, my lady.” He consented at the last and she smiled only in gratitude, not superiority, as he would have expected. Releasing her wrist quite reluctantly, for more than one reason, she reached behind her and untied the apron from about her waist.

Methodically she requested of him. “Have you a knife I may use to cut this? I’ll need the strips to bandage your waist.” Quickly unsheathing his dagger from its place, he handed her the blade and watched as she knelt, pinning one corner of material between her handless arm and knee while the other corner was held in her teeth and she began the tear as such. Glancing up to him, she instructed. “Take off your shirts, please. If you care not for one or both of them, press the cloth firmly upon the wound to slow the bleeding.” Maedhros did as she bade him and clenched his jaw as the fabric was pushed into his side by his own hand. Finished cutting the rags, she set aside the knife and draped them across her left elbow before coming to him, asking that he let his right arm rest on her shoulder to keep it out of the way.

Gently taking the sodden shirts from his flexed grasp, she wiped the surrounding blood away with them and then folded only the under-shirt to carefully place on top of the gash. “Hold that a moment.” She took a strip of apron and placed the end of it under one of his long fingers to hold while she hugged close to him and brought the cloth tightly about his waist, disconcerting him when her cheek pressed against his bare chest momentarily.

Mîrluiniel subtly studied him as she worked, and could not help but be shocked at the amount and depth of scarring upon his flesh. Her eyes had only seen a part of them on the early morning of his nightmare, and in the darkness of a tent at that. She was appalled now by how many splayed across his torso, alone. With more respect now for his wishes to remain private, she could hardly express what profound concern she felt over the markings of lashes and blows of terrible torture instruments used on him during that long thralldom.

As she tied off the taut dressing around his middle, she took the fallen and bloody shirt that was once a charcoal grey, now stained a reddish black, and moved to the shore of the river to wash it out as much as she could. Maedhros came beside her to once again gather the pony’s reigns, allowing it to drink from the frigid water. “So what happened?”

Kalin’s inquiry came to his vacant ears and he turned to her in a moment of uncertainty before responding. “To Celebrimbor? It seemed he tried to jump to a sandbar in the river and the horse likely stumbled upon him in the gravel. As I said before, I turned only after it happened. I dove in after him and managed to pull through some rapids before getting him to shore.” With an expression of consternation, he continued. “I lost my grip several times, and on one instance was caught upon a jagged rock.” Finished, he gestured to the neatly bound injury.

She nodded as she listened and rung out his shirt before standing and draping it across Bellsui’s rump. “I’ll see if I can salvage the jerkin tonight.” She offered as they began to walk back to the encampment.

Maedhros simply waved her off. “There is no need.”

She thought a moment and looked ahead of them as she spoke, choosing her words carefully. “At least it is still here for you to put on should you choose, once we’re returned to your brother’s camp.” He looked her way and she chanced a look back, hoping her meaning had got across in an inoffensive manner. By his appreciative gaze she gleaned that it had, and she was glad to see that her foot was placed tentatively further into the door of gaining his trust.

“I thank you.” His low voice murmured and, tucking some fallen hair back behind a pointed ear, she averted her gaze with a smile to hide some of her blush, even as he clearly saw it and smiled admirably upon her.

In moments like this, Maedhros wished that she would look fully into his eyes so that he could gaze into and study hers longer; take in the fades and brilliancies of their color, the depth of beauty, which at each moment reflected all her loveliness from within. Yet mentally he checked himself. He could never truly appreciate her beauty and elegance the way he desired so fervently to, and that, he knew would regrettably never occur, out of concern for her well-being and that of anything that could possibly come from such a union.

Upon further foreboding thought, he concluded that even this day’s incident was all of his own doing. It was he who had offered a ride and some practice outside of the ring, which led them to the bank of the river, where he had taken his eyes from his nephew just long enough for such a thing to happen. If it had not been for him, Celebrimbor would have safely been trotting his pony in the paddock and not having a broken leg mended due to his careless uncle. How was Maedhros supposed to father a child and not subject it to the atrocities of the oath’s doing or accidents due to his own negligence? What grief would he give to Kalin by doing such things so unintentionally to their children? He could not bring himself to think of it.

“My lord, are you well?” Kalin asked after him innocently and he only turned enough to see the missing left hand at her side. Even her disability was his doing! And had not his brothers interfered, and then surely she would have faded that very evening. Everything dear to him would be brought to harm so long as he remained near to it.

He turned to her as she waited, patiently concerned for his answer. Abruptly, he questioned her. “Do you love my nephew, Kalin?”

Not expecting such a question, nor so suddenly, Mîrluiniel answered truthfully without forethought. “Yes… as if he were my own.”

He exhaled with a humorless smile, grimmer than she would have liked. “You realize had it not been for your, most welcome, interference, that he would have been dead by my hand this day?” Bitterly, he accused himself and disregarded her attempts to dissuade this current line of thinking. “Why do you continue your kindness toward me? It was my fault he almost became lost, and it was my doing to distress you so for Celebrimbor’s sake. You are too good...”

Not certain how these mutinous thoughts and notions had come upon him so out of the blue, or even at all, Mîrluiniel made a valid point more potent by turning him to face her and stopping their movement to gain his complete attention. “And you, also, are too good for your own health, Maedhros!”

He shook his head and looked away, but as her grip tightened and her body stepped even closer, he was sorely tempted to look at her.

“Yes, you are. If you were as you say, would you be so concerned to worry yourself over all this as you’re doing now? If you weren’t good and kind, then you would not care. You do care. What happened was an accident, and could have happened to any one of us, and under even worse circumstances for I doubt my determination alone would have carried your nephew to shore.”

Looking down in dejection, Maedhros shook his head slowly, gradually bringing a grieved and conflicted stare to meet the blue eyes that sought to console him. More quietly than his earlier arguments, even his own heart wishing the statement false, he whispered. “Good things happen to good people, Kalin… I’m not one of them.”


	5. Let Your Heart Believe It’s True

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 5** /?

 **Chapter Summary:** “’With all that has happened, it is not far fetched for him to believe there is no good left.’ Maglor looked to her eyes then, revealing in his that all he said was regretfully true. ‘We’ve done terrible things, Kalin.’”

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. ಠ_ಠ

 

“Kalin, I can barely open my eyes. I’m tired.” Celebrimbor softly moaned to her in his bed and she fixed herself behind him, his dampened head resting in her lap.

Stroking his hair soothingly she smiled and assured him. “Your Atar gave you medicine to sleep long, dearest. You’ll be just fine.” Though he mumbled, she deciphered his wish to know where Bellsui was. “Your uncle brought her back for you, young one. The mare is safe.”

“Can you thank uncle Maedhros for me?” With a sigh, she promised she would and at last he seemed to drift off with some finality. Cuddling into her lap with his cheek against her belly, he whispered with a sleepy smile on his young face. “I love you, Kalin.”

Brought to welcome tears by his sweet declaration, Mîrluiniel caressed his-- for now, still pudgy-- cheek and whispered back. “I love you, too, my little one.” She sat with him for a long hour alone simply combing dry his hair and stroking his back. At length she rested her head back on the child’s pillows and slipped her eyes shut to enjoy a moment of peace.

_Behind her eyes she played out the days’ events and seemed to realize more acutely how disturbed Maedhros was, how self-doubting he was. Recalling little moments over the past week she further saw how almost every moment of pleasure for him, great or small, would end in a bitter thought, something to depress and dishearten him. In everything this stain of turmoil would seep through to taint the clean joy of the moment._

_Was this the effect of his capture all those years ago? That he was never to have a moment of pleasure without regret? She could only imagine what kind of tortures and terrible things he’d been through in so long a life filled with war and evil. She, herself, had never experienced a ‘battle’ or seen one elf destroy another. Her life had long been protected from these things and she wondered, with Morgoth and his threat still present, how much longer she would be protected from thus._

_With a change of light, Mîrluiniel felt an embracing arm encircle her waist tightly; a_ right _arm, with no hand to hold her at its end. Firmly it seized her and her own arms wrapped about the owner’s neck, pulling closer against him as her lips frantically sought his. He kissed her back in the saddest of passions and she felt her tears making hot paths down her face and onto his. Abruptly she was pulled away from him and she screamed out his name in a sob, only through the fog of tears could she see his armored presence fade into darkness and fire._

Awaking suddenly, Mîrluiniel put a hand to her face and felt the wet of tears smeared upon flushed cheeks. Quite worked up from the dream, she carefully arranged Celebrimbor onto his own pillows from her lap and rose from the bed, leaving a warm kiss to his temple before she removed from the tent. She walked on unsteady feet to the horse paddocks, leaning heavily on the fence. Rúnyadal was the first to notice her approach in the darkness and made his way toward her.

With a smile she let him lick the salty tears from her palm and rested a weary head upon the left forearm she laid on the post. The stallion finished with her palm and nudged her hair before coaxing the hand up to pet him. “You’re such a sweet heart, aren’t you, Rúnya?” She crooned softly to the tall horse and he nickered in response.

Behind her, and without her knowledge, Maedhros was making his way toward the steed to bestow a good rubdown in reward for the day’s behavior. He stopped when Kalin’s voice reached his heightened hearing and made quickly to conceal himself, choosing to avoid the likely awkward scenario that could ensue by adding his presence to the equation. She looked exhausted, and who could blame her for being so after what he’d put her through that day?

Softly, she continued to speak with his horse and he listened intently, mourning the lack of delight her tone usually held. “Ah, Rúnyadal, there is so much I don’t know about your master… so much I _want_ to know about him. He’s lied to himself for so long that I think he truly believes there _is_ _no_ good in him!” The steed nodded his large head as if in confirmation and her laughter, though weak, brought a peaceful smile to Maedhros’ lips before she sighed and went on. “I wish he could see how he works with Celebrimbor on that pony. He’s a perfect teacher: encouraging, descriptive… I’m curious to know if that is like his father or mother, or perhaps his own method of instruction. Even today interacting with Celebrimbor, just assuring him the way he did meant so much to the boy. I wish he would see the good in _that_.” Maedhros sagged against the tree he hid behind as he listened to the maiden speak unreservedly.

Sinking down to her knees, Mîrluiniel continued to scratch Rúnyadal under his jaw as he poked his head through the wooden bars of fence, draping his neck against her fair brow protectively. “I’m so glad he has _you_ , Rúnya, at the very least. I think you’re one of the only things that makes him truly happy. Randiriel made me feel the same sort of happiness; it was a _free_ happiness. And freedom is what I always had when I rode.” Maedhros heard a frailty in her voice as she spoke of riding, a sadness he wished he could soothe away. “I miss riding… I’m just, I’m just so afraid to fail, Rúnyadal. To learn _again_ what I spent so long to learn and become competent at. To re-learn in so _different_ a way…” Her voice broke and Maedhros instinctively moved as if to go to her, but stilled himself.

Without hearing his movement, she continued. “I know Maedhros only a little, but I’m proud of him for having such determination to do things again, and the strength of will to do them even better. You’re a beautiful thing, the two of you, when your master is high on your back.” Exhaustion tinged her accent more toward Sindarin as she faded from her one-sided communication and Maedhros was again confident in his assessment that she was of no Noldorin line.

It disappointed him slightly, that she did not share his blood, though he would never aloud admit why. For several minutes she said nothing and at length he looked from his tree to see that she had fallen asleep on the ground, Rúnya nipping at her loosened hair. Feeling it safe to do so, the Fëanorian stood and came over to where she now lay resting, his stallion’s ears perking as his attention was drawn from the lass beneath his guard. Familiarly, the elf rubbed the creature’s intelligent ears and knelt down at Kalin’s side where she leaned upon the lower railing of the gate. It was far too chilly for her to be out, and he would not leave her under Rúnyadal’s protection alone, much as he trusted the fine animal.

With care, Maedhros bent down and gathered her gently against him, cradling her into his chest as she turned to nestle naturally against his warmth. He liked the feel of her so close while she knew not who held her or why. It was intrinsically _right_ to have her face burrowed into his neck, her arms and hand pressed to his chest. He breathed deeply and stood, mostly succeeding in ignoring the pain of his freshly sealed gash from that afternoon. She smelled of horses and citrus, and as he inhaled he wondered if kissing her would be as sweet as winter oranges. Jostling himself off that path of thought, he looked quickly ahead to where he was going and made his way into her tent where only one oil lamp shed its light from the courtesy of a servant passing by, as he knew for certain she had not been to her own quarters since just after fast breaking that morn.

Laying her down upon the mattress, he turned her head away from him and knelt at her side to begin re-braiding the long hair, taking a leather tie from his own to tightly fasten it. Her curls were not common among the elves and he wondered at them as a few baby ones twirled around the point of her ear while others kept to her hair line in wispy ringlets of pearly white. He sat admiring her, perhaps too long, but finally felt it growing colder within her canvas room and he thought to pull the blankets up over her shoulders. ‘Surely Celegorm can spare a _fur_ for her during the winter?’ He thought briefly and decided simply to give her the one from his own bed, since he slept very little.

With a last affectionate glance to her sleeping form, Maedhros walked to his temporary chambers with a mission to retrieve for her a fur covering. He groaned when he heard his name being called from behind and turned reluctantly, recognizing the voice’s owner.

“Coming from Kalin’s, are you? Was there some jealousy when my son received more attention from the fair one?” Curufin approached him with a smug grin Maedhros would have liked to slap from his face.

“Be _silent._ ” He ordered, glancing ever so subtly back towards her tent. “Shall I even _try_ to explain the truth to you? Whatever you’re thinking of, there is nothing improper.” With a glare, he sufficiently warned the younger sibling not to utter another word on the matter, and again began to walk off.

His arm being pulled back and Curufin looking to him apologetically halted progress, however, and the eldest son was coerced to listen. “I am sorry, Maedhros. I was actually coming to thank Kalin for my son’s life… but I want to thank you, also. If you had not gone after him he would be lost to me. I don’t know how to be grateful enough.” Maedhros thought to reply that the incident had been _his_ fault in the first place, that his brother should be enraged with him for not paying heed enough to his child to thereby have prevented it; but then he remembered Kalin’s earlier words: ‘I wish he would see this.’

With a sore smile, Maedhros pulled his brother into an embrace and they held one other firmly before pulling back, each with shining eyes. “There’s no need, Curu. Go to your son.” With a pat on the arm, both edhil departed their own ways, both with a pleasantly surprised expression upon similar faces.

 

Mîrluiniel awoke at dawn’s breaking, as was her custom each day, and smiled for some unknown reason as a smell, familiar yet not often experienced, became clearer to her senses. Opening her eyes greeted her with the ceiling of her tent as always, yet looking down she was surprised to see a large fur, soft and warm to protect against the cold morning, and attached to it the musky smell of leather, horse, along with the pleasing and distinct scent of a male; she could never quite put a better name to it than that. ‘But I’ve never had a fur blanket in my room.’ She sat up and looked upon it for a few minutes, stroking its thick fibers until her memory of the night before came back. ‘I thought it only a dream. Could it have truly happened?’ She remembered essentially falling asleep at Rúnyadal’s hooves and then a moment later being taken up into strong arms. Mîrluiniel smiled at the thought, it had felt good to be held so closely. Although Celebrimbor was never shy to embrace her, she hadn’t been hugged or carried by a matured elf in years. Then she’d felt a gentle twining of her curls that Celeb had let free of binding earlier to his delight, and after that the weight of another blanket on her body.

She put her hand up to the braid and smiled that it was rather tightly bound, a leather thong holding it in place. Besides the obvious fact that it was leather, it smelled much like the fur did. Who had been so kind as to do all this for her? Thinking again harder, she believed she never felt the touch of her guardian’s _right_ hand. ‘No, I surely must have dreamt _that_ detail.’ She said to herself, yet unconsciously stroked the leather binding with even more care.

Rising to bathe and begin her day properly, Mîrluiniel began boiling some water left in the wooden basin to one side of her tent and pulled a dressing screen around it to hide her in the corner. Un-tucking her shirt and unbuttoning it slowly, she pulled it off and then unclasped the high-waist skirt, slipping it down over her hips and long legs. The water warmed enough to satisfy her and she took the flame from it before stepping into the warmth and submerging herself completely for a few moments’ solitude. The soap cloth was smoothed over her bare skin and, delicately, Mîrluiniel traced the terrible scars of her attack, now more than ten years old, though at times feeling as fresh as ten days.

Her left arm from the shoulder down would have periods of numbness when idle or cold, her legs bore claw marks from the mad beasts shredding through her breeches, and parts of her side held deep scarring from jaws sinking powerfully through the muscle there. Shortness of breath after anything very strenuous plagued her by effect of damaged lungs from beatings upon already broken ribs. Remorsefully, the elleth looked over her extended, though stunted, left arm and flexed the hand that remained only in spirit, wincing when an intense cramp gripped the shoulder and bicep. Holding it with her remaining hand, she also studied the scabs formed by herself along the tops of her fingers and knuckles. ‘I should stop my self-abuse.’ She noted mentally and began combing fingers through her long hair. ‘Celebrimbor is getting old enough to notice, and now _Maglor_ has seen that I’ve done so… it is enough.’

Quickly she finished in the tub as it came to grow cooler and ran her citrus-oiled fingers through the sun-white hair once more before letting it to dry. At that moment she heard someone enter the tent and she was thankful all at once for the dressing screen hiding her indecent self from the intruder.

“Kalin?” It was Veassen, and she instantly wondered about Celebrimbor, for this edhel was often charged with the lad’s care when she was unable.

“I’m here, what is it?” She answered and peered from just behind the stand-up, causing the elf-- not much younger than herself-- to avert his gaze and flush in embarrassment.

He stammered. “Ah, Celebrimbor has been asking for you.”

“ _This_ early?” He made a shrug and comical expression to match. “Fine. But tell him I have to feed everyone this morn so I shall not long remain at his side.”

Veassen nodded and looked over to her bedding before departing. “Is that a _bear_ fur? When did you ask for that?”

Rolling her eyes and desirous _not_ to speak about the blanket and how it came to be, Mîrluiniel caught him looking at her silhouette through the screen and commanded. “ _Veassen_! Just go and tell Celeb what I have said. Now _go_.” He grinned and ran off at last, letting her change into a chemise and dress that laced up the front from her waist. Donning an apron, she hastened to Celebrimbor’s tent and strode through the flaps without announcement, thinking mainly that the edhil of the encampment would have growling stomachs by the time she got to them.

When she entered, though, she saw Celebrimbor fast asleep, still, and _Maedhros_ standing over the boy in riding garb and a solemn look. He turned at her sudden entrance and instinctively Mîrluiniel began to back away, apologizing in hushed tones. “Forgive me for intruding, my lord…”

Staying her with an extended right arm, he shook his head. “No, you need not leave. I just wanted to see him before I left.”

She looked up then and questioned hesitantly. “You’re leaving?”

Disappointment was there for him to detect in her voice and he approached her so as not to risk waking the lad with their conversation. “Only to hunt for the day.” Maedhros took the opportunity to look her over subtly and noted her sweet smelling hair pulled into a damp plait off her shoulder, his braid now gone. The scent of horse and leather were gone yet, though he missed them mildly, the sugared citrus that he breathed in now was all but intoxicating.

Glancing idly toward Celebrimbor resting peacefully between his blankets, Mîrluiniel curiously inquired in what she hoped was a tactful way. “In respects for myself, may I ask _how_ you hunt… without another, I mean?”

He smirked and raised an expressive brow toward her before answering vaguely, opening the tent material for them to exit. “I have a certain weapon made for me by a close friend… I should let you go. I bid you good day, my lady.”

He started to turn where she now saw his impressive steed and hound waiting for him, but she stayed him a moment with her hand on his upper arm. “ _Wait_ , you go to Nan Elmoth?” He paused before nodding and then noticing the distress bleeding through her normally calm visage. Looking up to his eyes she pressed gently on his arm and forced out a small smile. “Be careful.” The well wish was spoken quietly with meaning and he made the connection relating her fear to that forest. Furrowing his brow, he assured her he would, and then departed from her to mount up and ride away, wondering again at her concern.

 

It was not much later that Mîrluiniel was tending some meat crisping in her pan when Veassen came by and offered, with a look of teasing knowledge on his smug face. “It would seem my warnings concerning our eldest Fëanorian lord were not needed at all, Kalin. Is he to bring you back a spry buck for your foodstuffs?”

She deflected his hand with her hot scraper as he made to pinch a bite off her cooking and frowned at him with an accusing glare; glad to have stung his young flesh. “Yes, I thank you for alerting me to Celebrimbor’s needs this early morning, _Veassen_.” He dodged another attack from the angry elleth and laughed until she splashed a little hot oil onto him and he hissed. “It is _not_ funny, Veassen. You’re _not_ to spread false rumors, _especially_ concerning your lord.”

“Oh come now, Kalin, surely you know I jest? Besides, all the rumors _I’m_ starting are complete truth.”

She grabbed him by the shoulder of his tunic, fixing him with an ill-promising scowl. “I will tell you only once, _firefly_ : I have done nothing in lord Maedhros’ presence that I would not do in any elf’s company. I want to hear _nothing_ , true or false, spreading around camp concerning my lord and myself.”

“Not even the innocence of his carrying you asleep to your tent, last eve?” He quipped, unafraid. She just looked at him in shock, not even fully certain of his statement being factual. He waited only a moment before adding. “Lord Curufin was not the only elf to see that little scene in the dark.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously and she discerned that, unfortunately, he _was_ telling the truth. “Lord Curufin is another story. As for _you_ , I had better not hear our names even spoken in the same _hour_ from your miserable mouth or there will be a significantly _thinner_ elf walking about Himlad.” At last her threat seemed to resonate with him and he gulped, nodding his comprehension.

With that, she released her hold and sent him on his way. ‘It _was_ him? And more than one elf beheld us… that’s just _wonderful_. Perhaps Curufin will respect his brother enough to keep it silent. It would be too much for Maedhros.’ Thinking on it as she dished out savory strips of venison, Mîrluiniel wondered at how he had taken care of her even with his proclamation of having no goodness.

As she gave Veassen two _charred_ pieces of meat, she also wondered if she was being so defensive not only for her lord, but for her _self_. If Maedhros caught wind that the camp suspected he had feelings for her, not only would he be embarrassed and disrespected, but without a doubt he would avoid, in every way, giving her attentions. On that cold morning, and in that same moment, she realized she _truly_ enjoyed his attention; even _desired_ it. ‘It can’t be more than infatuation, surely. I hardly know him, and he…’ She trailed off even in thought. Maglor had hinted at it, and she had flattered herself on several occasions to believe he _did_. But did he truly care for her in return?

“Good morning, Kalin.” Maglor’s voice came at her side once she had reached the trough for cleaning dishes and she was forced to put her thoughts away for the moment.

“Good day, my lord. Have you broken your fast?”

“No, and I’m in the hopes that you’ve not, either. If you are _willing_ , I thought you could join me for a bit of a walk and picnic near to your garden?” Mîrluiniel nodded in response to the invitation and his sunny demeanor, smiling as she deposited her dirty pan and thanked another elf for washing them for her.

Taking her arm within his, Maglor continued. “I’ve only some fruit and bread with butter, but I’m hoping you’ll forgive the simplicity since I’d probably have you in a sickbed with Celeb should you dare to consume _my_ cooking.” He indicated to the small basket and cloth he carried in his opposite hand and she laughed loudly.

“I thank you, then, for your thoughtfulness. Bread and fruit are just fine with me, I assure you.” They made their way to the oak tree by her plot where he had met her the day before and sat between its roots to eat and enjoy each other’s company.

Situating her with a slice of apple, Maglor studied her for a moment and inquired. “How does Mîrluiniel fare this day?”

She tilted her head as she swallowed and smiled knowingly before responding, then taking another bite. “How do you see me faring, my lord? If only so that I might keep from drawing a false picture for you to look upon.”

“ _Ha_ , at last she concedes to my superior ability in reading emotion! I’d say you’re looking slightly confused, or may it be only thoughtful?”

Sighing, she swallowed again and confirmed. “A little of both, it would seem…”

“Oh?” He asked, sad to see her pleasant expression fall to a furrowed brow and troubled look. “What has he done to confuse my dear Mîrluiniel, _this_ time?”

She cut her eyes to him and smirked, scooting closer to his side and supporting herself on her good hand. “I just found out that it was your eldest brother who carried me to my tent, braided my hair, and lent me a _bear_ skin blanket last night, after finding me asleep with the horses. Answer me this, does not that sound like a good and most chivalrous thing to do?”

He tucked in his chin in a moment of contemplation and nodded, agreeing that it was a kind act to perform.

“And here-- this is what confuses me-- yesterday as I came back with him from gathering Celebrimbor’s pony, he tried to _convince_ me that everything bad that happened was his fault and doing! That had it not been for me, your nephew would now be dead.”

“Well, he was correct to say that it was by _your_ skill Celeb was revived…”

“But Maglor, Maedhros did _not_ break the lad’s leg and toss him into the river! He even reached the boy to his own detriment! I had to persuade him to let me bind a gash just below his chest before we returned.”

The Noldo stopped Kalin then with a hand on hers and looked on her in some shock. “He allowed you to see him with no concealment?”

“Yes… _well_ , he removed only his tunic and jerkin as I asked…” She answered innocently, not immediately understanding his question.

“But you saw his _scars_?” She nodded that she had and then realized what he meant. “You must understand when I tell you that not even all his _brothers_ have seen his bare flesh since he was tortured and brought back from Thangorodrim. I have been his foremost caretaker whenever he needs it… but he must surely respect and trust _you_ to have allowed this.”

Mîrluiniel chose to keep from him the first time she had seen the scars, that morning after his nightmare, and decided to continue towards her point. “He asked me why I was so kind to him and said that I was ‘too good,’ to which I replied that he was, also. Too kind for his _own_ good. His next words took a moment to come and they are what puzzle me most. He said that good things happen to good people, and he should not be counted among them.” Maglor seemed to understand what his brother had said and closed his eyes with a sigh. She noticed his change in posture and looked at him curiously. “Maglor? What is it? What does that mean?”

He chanced a look at her naturally fair visage, pure blue eyes unable to comprehend that even people she knew to be generous and kind _now_ , have not always been so. “Kalin, what do you know of I and my brothers? Have you been told anything of our history?” He asked her in reluctance, seeming weary-- not of their conversation, but of life in general.

Concerned by what he might have to say, Mîrluiniel sat upright and furrowed her delicate brows, recalling what all had been publicized in Menegroth about Fёanor’s sons and what she had learnt from her sister-in-law who was, herself, of the Noldor. “I know that in Valinor you and your brothers followed your father by taking an oath to retrieve the Silmarilli, gathering many of the Noldor to come to Middle Earth and pursue Morgoth. After Dagor-nuin-Giliath Maedhros was tricked and taken, but when Fingon rescued him he relinquished claim as Finwё’s heir and you are now dispossessed because of it.” She paused. “There is more, I am certain, but I do not know it.”

Maglor seemed to relive some of what she mentioned but remained sullen and calm, looking distantly toward her garden before returning his troubled gaze to her. She had never seen him so depressed and it gave her cause to worry. Sighing, he spoke. “You’re right, there is much more; and I risk losing your beautiful acquaintance and friendship, but you must know the truth… What you did not mention about our father’s oath was that we also swore to make _war_ upon whomever would withhold the jewels from us. Man, Elf, or Vala alike. We also did not just _leave_ Valinor. We needed ships, and asked our brothers of the Alqualondё to give up their well-fashioned swan boats. When they declined to give up their gifts from the Valar, we murdered all who refused us and took them against their will.

“Father, my brothers, and I used them to cross from Losgar, apart from the remainder of our Noldor brethren. Once there, all of us but Maedhros set fire to the ships. This forbade them from following us, and forced them to bear the cold wilderness of the Forbidding Ice. Maedhros regrets our actions perhaps more than all of us combined. But with all that has happened, it is not far fetched for him to believe there is no good left.” Maglor looked to her eyes then, revealing in his that all he said was regretfully true. “We’ve done terrible things, Kalin.” Speechless, she moved to stare at her skirts blankly and tried to reason it all out somehow, but failed.

Maglor shook his head and turned to look away. “This has not gone where I wished it to, and I apologize. In fact, I had suggested this picnic to ask you if you would like to return with us to Himring. I know Maedhros is fond of you, however he chooses to display it, and you of him from what I can tell. But that isn’t the only reason I’m asking you. You’ve been good for my brother, Mîrluiniel. I’ve known him many long years, and since his capture there’s been only very rare moments where he’s not worn some sort of mask to hide his true feelings. It may not seem like it, especially now, but you’ve been _very_ good for him.” He knew it was probably too much to dump upon her poor mind at one time, but then, perhaps it was best to have it all at once and now mull it over. Valar only knew.

She turned to him when he put a warm hand on her upper arm and allowed him to kiss her on the cheek. “Just, take your time. You don’t have to do anything, least of all make a decision this moment. Just _think_ about it… please.” She made a weak nod to let him know she’d heard, and then stood and began walking toward the river.

Realizing she would likely need quite some time to make heads or tails of it all, Maglor only followed her for an hour or so to make sure she would not do anything foolish. When he was confident she was fine _physically_ , he left her to think on everything by the water’s edge.

 

Hidden perfectly between several rushes, below the heavy needles of a pine, Maedhros lay on his back with his right arm outstretched and supported on a drawn up knee. A crossbow knocked and ready to be shot with his eye along the sight, his fingers were ready at the trigger to catch any approaching prey. Several deer had been grazing in the berry bushes within several feet of him, but as yet only does and late fawns not quite rid of their young spots would come near him. At last their buck arrived with a rack twelve points to count, nibbling here and there until he moved towards Maedhros to eat a patch of greenery, almost giving the elf his perfect shot.

At the moment he was going to pull, Maedhros was accosted with a sudden loss of breath that pained his newly stitched wound and he jerked with a gasp, alarming all the deer to flee as his arrow was sent far into the branches of a distant tree. “ _Blast_.” He muttered between his heaving for air and laid his head on the pine-needled ground under him, pressing a hand to the newly sewn gash below his right breast.

Taking several deep breaths helped to calm the throbbing, but didn’t answer why it happened in the first place. “I haven’t exerted myself in any way strenuous enough to knock the wind from me…” He reasoned out loud and turned on his side before sitting up and resting elbows on knees.

 

Mîrluiniel sat down finally and leaned elbows on her knees as she panted for air; glad to temporarily have her exhaustion to focus on instead of all that Maglor had told her. Once she had been certain the second eldest brother was gone and ceased his shadowing her, she had gathered her skirts to run as fast as she could down-river, needing solitude and exertion of force to let loose some self-directed frustration. ‘How have I been so _stupid_? Straight away, I believed them all to be blameless and willingly kept _on_ in my ignorance!’ Inwardly, she blamed herself harshly for not realizing sooner why her King and family held no love for Fёanor’s children.

Tears came out of anger toward herself and then increased when she thought of what they did at Alqualondё, her kin near to Valinor. Elves were not meant to kill one another. It was not what Eru created them for. How hateful and selfish was Fёanor to desire physical _gems_ so much that he would inspire others-- even his own _sons--_ to murder their kin? Mîrluiniel was in shock. How could she have been so sheltered as to _not_ know these things? She was angry with her father, her brothers, for not telling her anything about the world outside of Doriath, but also at herself for being complacent and never asking questions.

It was a long time before she calmed down, both physically and mentally; but when she did, her memory became clearer and she thought of when she first came to Himlad and her reasons and desire to stay. Her visions of Maedhros certainly meant something, they came too consistently to merely be passing dreams. She had immediately trusted them once they met and truly believed them to be worthy. Had she not gone to Mereth Atherdad? Had she not sworn her _own_ oath-- one of friendship-- to the Noldor? Even Maedhros and Maglor had sworn this same oath! ‘But will they not hold first to their _father’s_ oath if the Silmarilli ever come into another elf’s hands but their own?’ Her cynical mind thought, but she put it aside.

As much as Kalin loved and cared for her family in Doriath, she did not wish to return… not now. If she mentioned anything, truth or lie, they would assume the worst and accuse Maedhros and his brothers of her terrible treatment, starting something that could not end well.

She _wanted_ to be here. She _desired_ to remain with the brothers and trust them, and why could she not? Yes, they’d committed heinous acts, but were they doing so _now_? Celegorm could have easily left her to die if Maglor was right and they already knew her Sindarin blood, but he had risked much to _rescue_ her and sacrificed much to save her life. Not one of them had personally given her any reason to doubt them, and even Maglor that morning had been brutally honest, to his detriment, by revealing the most gruesome details of their past with her. Not one of them had lied to her.

With some grasp of finality, she lowered herself to the gravel of Celon’s shore and rested her head on her left arm. The maiden’s thoughts drifted to Maedhros and his believing himself only a source of terrible things. Heavily lidded eyes wandered to look across the river and into Nan Elmoth’s forest. ‘ _It may not seem like it… but you’ve been_ very _good for him._ ’ Maglor’s admission came up in her mind, and as she faded into sleep with the sun’s earlier decline, Mîrluiniel promised to try her hardest to rub her positive attitude upon him, to help him be _happy_ once more. Her eyes at last fell shut.

_Just like before, there was fire. It cracked loudly in her ears and the sound of a collapsing roof assaulted her before the hiss of some water touched it somewhere, an individual’s frenzied attempt to put it out. Her frantic legs took her forward and back, dodging men and horses while everything became blurry and she knew not what her feet were looking for._

_Not until Maedhros’ commanding presence filled her vision in a shining hauberk and long sword drawn in his left hand. She fled to him and he turned to catch her in his right arm, holding her tightly and burying his face into her neck as he whispered. ‘Mîr nin.’ Clinging to him still, she turned his face to hers and kissed him for what she feared may be the last time, savoring it as much as she could before strong arms pulled her away. His expression as she was dragged backwards was longing, before a moment changed it into a passionate determination and he left her sight._

 

Maedhros walked Rúnyadal easily upstream on the Himlad-side of the Celon, a young buck with small antlers tied to the back of the tall horse. Taurvantian trotted gaily ahead with a strip of jerky hanging out of his mouth for reward. The elf’s thoughts drifted as they made their way home with his catch, Kalin’s face and clear smiling eyes making a beautiful image in his mind’s eye. Her voice in its sweet mother-like tone when she talked to his nephew, or her caring and skilled touch when she bandaged his gash, even soothing him after that terrible dream…

“ _No_! Maedhros, please _Maedhros_!” He was startled out of his reverie by what he at first believed to be a waking vision, but was in fact Kalin’s voice calling for him. Looking ahead, he saw his hound already running toward a small white form that lay alone in the dark and cold. Rúnya leapt forward at his signal and Maedhros called for her, praying she was not hurt as he pulled up at her side.

Dismounting in a heartbeat, he skidded to his knees in the loose rock, pulling her struggling and unconscious body toward him while she strained and pushed out of his grasp. “Kalin, _Kalin_ … hush now, I’m right here. You’re _safe_ , I’ve got you.” She seemed to recognize his voice at last and stilled suddenly, her eyes opening with a gasp while her hand still clung desperately to the collar of his garb. Mîrluiniel quite suddenly felt the contrast from the fiery and explosive heat in her dream, to the biting cold air that blew into her from the river. He rested her head against his shoulder now that she was sitting up and wrapped part of his fur-lined cloak about her quivering shoulders.

Her breaths were measured, and by his feeling her flinch when she inhaled, Maedhros wondered if she _was_ injured as he had worried. “Are you all right? Are you _hurt_?” He asked her with a deep voice full of concern.

She shook her head against him, quietly responding. “I’m just, a little out of breath; it’s hurt like this ever since my attack. I’ve just gotten used to it.” He knit his dark red brows, not liking references to her ‘attack,’ and even less so when they had to do with any continued pain on her part. “I’m sorry if I hit you… I didn’t mean it.” She apologized and snuggled a little more into his welcome warmth, not sure how long he would allow her to remain in such a position. It was an instinctive embrace she greatly appreciated, accepting the comfort he unknowingly lent through such an act.

“That matters little, you may hit me all you like.” He assured her calmly and Kalin chanced a look up at him, ascertaining whether or not he was being self-depreciating in the remark. He looked down to her also and smiled attractively, his expression for once relaxed, something that caused her to smile in response.

“You don’t mean that.”

With a chuckle he shrugged like he was still debating, turning his eyes away to the river flowing before them that provided no accommodation from its frigid winter current. “Perhaps it was in jest, but I would not lie to you. You may surely beat me all you like.” He glanced at her and then looked back to the river with a sigh. “I wasn’t always so disagreeable as I am now…” He was remorseful for his more innocent years in Valinor, knowing he’d never truly been happy for himself since those days early in his life. He’d been glad _for_ many people; such as the birth of his brother’s son, Aredhel’s joy for the gelding he’d gifted for her birthing day… But his own happiness he’d not attained in many a century.

“You can be most agreeable, my lord, when your thoughts are not drawn inward. I don’t think you realize it when you are, but others know it.” She pointed out and tucked her stunted arm in the fold of her other to keep the appendage warm and prevent numbing. “At the High King’s feast, I saw you were very polite and agreeable with those whom you conversed.”

He puffed a cloud of fog with his chuckle in the chill air and glanced at her again. “Amusing, how I saw you but once during the entire course of festival, yet you espied me enough to make that comment.” He paused in recollection. “Dare I ask if you were even supposed to attend?” Mîrluiniel could only hold his piercing gaze for an instant before turning away in some shame. He shifted so as to see more of her fair face, cheeks a frosty pink for the cold autumn’s night. “You’re the same now as you were then; careful with your words, and as skittish as a deer when it comes to inquiring after your person… Why do you wish to remain here, Kalin?” Each word in Maedhros’ question was very soft, as if raising his voice would frighten her away.

Racing through her thoughts to find a suitable reply, Mîrluiniel’s eyes darted from the ruffled fur of his wind and weather-blown cloak, to the rapids and swells of the Celon’s water before them, searching for some explanation yet coming at last to the only truth she had. Maedhros blinked when her gem-like eyes gleamed up at him, catching both the river’s reflection and the harvest moon’s bright light in those crystalline blue irises.

“I’ve no answer for you, Maedhros. Something here gives me peace and freedom, but I have yet to find what it is.”

He looked at her and tried to see what she was keeping from him, but could not. Her words were the truth, if not _every_ part of it. Its honesty did not satisfy him completely, however, but he smirked softly when he realized it was hopeless. “I believe you, though I do not understand how that can be.”

She laughed to herself, emitting more fog between them as she put forth. “Believe me, had I any notion, it would been known to you.”

“Would it?” He questioned with a splinter of doubt that startled her before she remembered that he had every right to doubt her. She desired _his_ trust, yet she _openly_ kept significant truths hidden away.

Mîrluiniel so desperately wished to be completely open and honest with him, with _everyone_ , but if she revealed where she was from and the specific people with whom she shared blood, he would do the honorable duties of returning her back to them. That was not at all what she wanted. “In _this,_ it would.” She at length granted him answer and the appreciation in his eyes was truly sweet and good. She was certain if he peeked from behind his mask, as he was doing now with her, it would do him far greater good than whatever _her_ presence could lend, as Maglor believed.

Maedhros contemplated her rosy face and lips that held so many secrets until those lips began to tremble lightly. Not having thought that she was surely freezing cold for the abundant warmth within him _self_ , he held her arms and helped her to stand as he did so, also, unclasping his heat-retaining cloak to fasten about her neck. A small smile appeared when her hand assisted his to fasten it. “Forgive my keeping you in this cold. Come, I’ll return you to my brother’s camp.” He apologized and led her to Rúnyadal, who waited patiently for his master and the elven lady.

Kalin stopped as he adjusted his buck on the stallion’s hindquarters and grew nervous once she understood that it was far enough, they would be _riding_ back. Much as she trusted Rúnya and Maedhros as horse and rider, she wasn’t sure if she trusted _herself_.

The Noldorin prince readied things securely upon his mount’s back, but only realized what was _not_ ready when he turned to the maiden standing off with her arm anxiously cradled in the other. Looping Rúnya’s reins over his own missing hand, he walked calmly toward her with the large animal in tow and took her hand in his with reassurance. The action brought her eyes to his, an understanding welcoming her there. “You’ve not been on a horse since your attack?” He asked quite tenderly, surprising even himself at the ease with which he related to the incident that caused so much grief not very long ago. He had for some time recognized these mixed emotions of longing, and fear, that reflected in her eyes every time she watched him ride, that of one who hasn’t gotten back into the saddle after a fall.

She shook her head quietly and looked as Rúnya’s nostrils flared at his master’s clothing. With a deep breath she answered. “I confess I have not.” Maedhros nodded and squeezed her hand on impulse before bringing his stallion forward and placing her hand on his head, keeping contact with her, still. Mîrluiniel stroked the beautiful animal’s face for a few moments and at last a smile broke through, easing her into the natural inclination she already felt for the great steed.

“What are you afraid of, when you think to start again?” The tall elf subtly inquired further and watched her averted eyes carefully for any surges of panic or uneasiness. As yet, there were none.

“There’s just so _much_ to relearn… It seems impossible.” He felt he understood that she was not talking simply of riding, but of every thing one must deal with because of loss of limb.

Nodding in complete empathy, he knew that even after so long that he still struggled with tying an intricate knot or buckling a stiff harness. He could never be the same as he was before, and it ever left him in a depression to dwell on it. Yet he chose not to focus on himself this night, nor before this elleth; gaining her attention by again touching her soft fingers with his calloused digits. “Then we must begin slowly. Tonight you need not even direct the horse.”

Her expression held uncertainty once again and his eyes became serious enough to let her know he spoke the truth. “Do you trust me still as you claimed that first night?” Maedhros studied her closely in her silence and beheld the answer she _wished_ to give him, struggling to make it beyond her lips. Had something changed, or was it the circumstances of this particular scenario to make her question what she had so faithfully uttered upon tending him? Did he _desire_ her trust, now? An individual relationship with the maiden he’d vowed to protect by _removing_ from? Yes, he desired thus. He found in this moment he desired it more than his own breath.

“Maedhros, I…” She closed her beautiful eyes to gather her thoughts, as he grew concerned for her answer. Opening them, she smiled contentedly, as if grateful for her own reply, and spoke. “I have always trusted you, my lord.”

A small sigh escaped him that would have gone unnoticed had not the little blow of steam escaped his lips. He smiled warmly. “Then trust me, my lady.” Maedhros brought her to the noble creature’s side and supported her leg as she put her arms on Rúnya’s mane and back, taking a breath before pushing off the leg that he held and swinging her other over the steed’s high back to take her seat. Her lord’s hand remained gratefully upon her leg to steady her as she found her center of gravity.

He grinned up at her and she smiled, a little less than calmly, back at him. Gathering the reins in his hand, Maedhros pulled himself up gracefully behind her and wrapped his arms around Kalin’s waist to guide the horse in the right direction. “Are you comfortable?” He asked next to her ear as they trotted easily along the river’s edge. Not trusting her voice so close to him, she nodded in affirmative and allowed herself to relax against his strong posture.

As Kalin’s figure slackened against him, the high elf let his arms wrap about her more naturally and became quite comfortable, himself. The rhythms of Rúnyadal’s gait relaxed Mîrluiniel while the muscles below and behind her were enough to make her feel completely protected. In relative silence, they passed outside of an hour until Maedhros chose to slow to a walk just so it wouldn’t jostle his new passenger-- if not also to lengthen the amount of time he could hold her thus. Sensing she was still awake, curiosity claimed the better of him and he asked, his deep voice vibrating from his chest through to hers. “How is it you came to be all the way out here on your own, Kalin?”

“Oh, I… needed to be alone for a while. This morning I just started _running_ , and stopped when I ran out of breath. I needed to think.”

“I completely understand you. There’s many times when I’ll just take Rúnyadal and go, nowhere in particular, just _go._ And as fast as I can.”

She laughed softly to herself at a thought. “Maglor said the reason he is so skilled a musician is that every time your brothers became too much of an annoyance, he would go and practice.”

Maedhros laughed at the memory and added his own. “Aye, that is surely true. When they would begin trying my patience, I went to the sparring field with my sword. Much of my reputation is due to the long hours I spent on that field.” Mîrluiniel thought of his repute as a warrior and briefly wished she could see his grace with a blade, until an image of him cutting down a fellow elf flashed behind her eyes and she hoped she never had to see such a thing as that come to reality.

After she thought the mental picture was diminished, another one of Maedhros standing blade in hand with fire and darkness at his back struck viciously to attack her mind. The suddenness of it caused her to jolt abruptly and Maedhros halted his steed to look at her with concern; her eyes shut tightly, back rigid, and hand clenched. His hand held her by the waist and he saw tears forming even through her closed lashes. “Kalin? Kalin, what is it?”

She shook her head stiffly while trembling with something more than cold, vehement in her desire not to explain that her vision filled with him. “I… just a _chill_. It was a sudden chill, nothing more.” Mîrluiniel turned away from his perceptive green eyes and ended turning further into his strong arms.

He set his jaw, knowing her excuse to be false, and pressed her, if only out of concern. “I am not fooled. Tell me what is wrong, Kalin. I promise I will do nothing to you aside from try and help, of course.” Rúnyadal made a side step for the distribution of weight on his back and the elf maiden pressed back against the prince in reflex, allowing him to settle both her and the horse.

“My lord, it was the thought of a terrible dream that I have longed to be rid of for some time. I wish not to speak of it… _please_.” She briefly explained to him and beseeched that he not inquire further than he already had. Somewhat perturbed by this similarity to his own unconscious grievances, Maedhros found himself unable to volunteer the comforting word she needed. Not certain as to what his silence meant, she kept reasonably still through her shivering until he took up the reins again and nudged Rúnyadal into motion.

The bright autumn moon guided them into a trot the last few miles before camp and Kalin quietly accepted the warmth he lent her, closing her eyes against the icy breeze coming off the river. They walked, then, between tents toward her dwelling and gently, almost too quiet for Maedhros to hear over the distant river’s song, she asked that he take her to Celebrimbor instead and he turned accordingly to grant the request.

Dismounting first, Maedhros caught her by the waist as she slid off behind him and gave her a small smile when he saw her expression had eased considerably, the fear finally gone from those jeweled eyes. “Sleep well, my lady.” He murmured to her, conscientious of the light blown out in his nephew’s tent. Mîrluiniel was grateful for his chivalry toward her and told him as much; giving him a peaceful smile once he mounted up again into the high saddle.

He turned back to her and fog blew from his mouth with a gentle sigh. “Good eve, Kalin.” He bowed his head to her respectfully and turned Rúnya away to trot off through camp.

“Good night, Maedhros.” She watched him ride into the night before ducking under the nearby canvas flap to check on her lord’s son. Mîrluiniel was happy to see the child asleep peacefully and sat at his head to braid the shoulder-length blonde hair that had been tangled from being bed-ridden all day. Singing softly to take her mind from things, she finished the braid and kissed the young lad’s temple before leaving the dwelling and starting towards her own.

“Kalin!” She was called to by Celegorm who had turned away from approaching his nephew’s tent and was now making his was to her. “I have not seen you this long day, not once! Where have you been busying yourself?”

She smiled at the sight of him but not at his question and replied apologetically. “Forgive my absence if I was asked for, I needed time to think over some things and I am well now.”

He nodded understandingly and inquired. “Have you eaten aught? I’m to take a small meal now, would you join me?”

Grinning to herself, she shook her head politely. “No, but I thank you. I’m to retire just now.”

“Well, in that case may I ask if you have thought of what my brother proposed to you this morning? I told him of my idea for you to journey with them not long after they arrived, themselves. He only just told me that he had presented the offer to you.”

Surprised that it had been _him_ to think of the idea, Kalin adjusted quickly and relented that she was happy this was not _so_ secretive a subject. Though she was certain Maedhros did not know of it, or at least not the thought behind the plan. “I _have_ thought on it, long and diligently; and though I have no answer for you now, I am thinking of it positively.” He smiled brightly at her reply and she mirrored his expression before curtseying and bidding him good eve.


	6. The Light Snow of Winter

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 6** /?

 **Chapter Summary:** _“I wish her only to be happy… a feat I know she would not lay claim to by becoming my wife.” A soft sigh was heard on the wind and the warmth of his mother’s kiss touched his brow before she spoke once more. ‘Not all jewels need be made of stone, Maitimo. Learn from your father’s mistake and keep your gems always close at hand.’_

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. ಠ_ಠ

   


“Kalin, _please_ can I go outside today? Atar says it is up to you, _please_!Please, please?” Celebrimbor begged his adopted naneth from between the covers. Not even his new bed, in his own room adjacent to his father’s could keep him from desiring new surroundings. Mîrluiniel grinned and shook her head, glancing with an amused look to Maglor, who sat on the edge of his nephew’s mattress playing a lute.

Tucking the thirteen year old in with an extra quilt, the lad’s only mother figure clucked her tongue softly and told him. “Celebrimbor, your father left it up to me because he knows _I_ have some sense _left_! If you have not felt the effects, then let me remind you that it is now snowing _heavily_ upon a few feet of already settled flakes. How would it feel to be a young boy with a broken leg laying out in the snow, doing nothing but shiver?”

Crossing his arms obstinately, he replied. “ _Natural_.” Smirking, she remained steadfast in her decision, to his dismay, and walked past Maglor to pick up a sewing project she’d started up again a day or so earlier. Frowning, Celeb sank down against the pillows to sulk and reached out to pet Huan’s great head as the dog curled lazily across his bed.

Maglor watched Mîrluiniel work at her needle and thread and inquired with a compliment. “You are doing quite well on that, Kalin. How long have you been at it?”

She laughed when she thought of her first beginning the piece and glanced up to him briefly before answering. “I thank you, and I’ve improved _greatly_ since I began it about two years ago, this spring. Curufin can attest to my being dreadful in the beginning, for it was his chore to cut me free from where I’d sewn myself to the blanket.”

He stopped his song to laugh with her until his brother entered from another tent and smilingly added. “Indeed, it was something of a mess-- but _nothing_ done with, or for, our dear Kalin is ever a chore.” Blushing, the elleth returned to the needlework in her lap and watched as the Noldo lord came to cheer his young one. “Ah, my son, feeling some cabin fever are you? Well, I promise if you do what Kalin and I tell you, your leg will be mended before the last snow falls. If you _promise_ not to run or jump on it too much, then you shall play outside e’er winter melts.” Celebrimbor grinned and hugged his atar, promising to do exactly as they said. Curufin winked at Kalin and then stood, making his excuses before leaving to return to his quarters.

It was a very short happy silence before the young elf flopped his arms dramatically and whined. “I’m so _bored_!” The two remaining adults could not hold in their laughter and even Huan had a twinkle of amusement in his large, expressive eyes.

“Shall I teach you a tune, Celeb?” Maglor offered to the child only to be answered with a scowl and proclamation of ‘hating music.’

“Celebrimbor, son of Curufinwё! _Apologize_ to your Uncle. That was disrespectful and rude.” Maglor was thankful for Kalin’s quick reproach and accepted his nephew’s pitiful apology. “Young sir, you are to rest or keep to yourself until I come for you, do you understand?” Rising from her sewing, she made clear her punishment for the lad and motioned that Maglor should accompany her out from the elfling’s room, depriving him of company for a while. Exiting into the crisp air of a very white day, Kalin pulled her woolen shawl closer and turned to her escort with a sigh. “His mood is by far not the brightest.”

Maglor smiled and shrugged, making it clear he didn’t need an excuse or further apologizing for the matter to be over. “Children need to play, and he has been withdrawn from such. I am not shocked by his behavior.”

They began to walk on a cleared path and she shook her head. “ _I_ am. He’s been taught more respect than that, I’ve never known him to be so blatant.”

Maglor laughed then, and she smiled to hear it, but waited for him to enlighten her as to the jest. “My lady, then you surely forget whose family that child belongs to. Fëanor’s line is a stubborn one and his sons each acquired, whether by example or by blood, a hotheaded streak. Mostly these are to be taken in stride, but you did rightly to quell young Celebrimbor’s outburst.” She was grateful for his compliment on her discipline of the lad and he smiled. The notice of her sun-kissed blonde curls reflecting the vibrancy of snow did not escape him, hundreds of tiny flakes nestling to make a kind of natural crown. “Eventually you may come to meet my other three brothers, and it will be evident at times that our father was certainly more lenient when it came to checking the behavior of his _younger_ sons.”

Nodding in comprehension, Mîrluiniel understood completely. Being the youngest of _her_ father’s children, there were many times—including her excursions outside Menegroth’s protection—when she had taken full advantage of her atar’s leniency. “Surely _you_ are not so rash? I’d like to think I know you moderately well, do I not?”

He glanced at her sidelong and smirked. “I certainly acquired much of my mother’s patience… but I would not wish to paint a false portrait of myself. I can become quite a monster when my temper flares.” He joked and made a dramatically ‘serious’ face that elicited her sweet laughter.

Pondering a moment, Kalin looked to her walking partner in whose elbow her arm was linked and inquired. “Was your naneth a very mild elleth?”

Maglor’s expression, she noted, melted to a peaceful smile with softened eyes before he replied about the Noldorin woman who gave him birth. “No. She was a beautifully tended flame that warmed our hearts or, in turn, scathed our bottoms.” He smiled at some pleasant memory and then turned to meet her eyes, at once making some little connection in his personal thought that wasn’t to be shared. He continued, “She yet dwells in Aman. I shall not see her again, as part of my punishment for past made decisions.” Though Mîrluiniel began to apologize for bringing up a painful subject, Maglor silenced her gently with a bittersweet expression. “No, it is good to remember her… I have not done so in far too long a time.”

They shared a look filled with ruth and, at length, she smiled as well. “What does she look like?” Having now his permission to ask further, she chose a general topic and decided to partially satisfy her curiosity on the point of their deeper background.

“The last I saw her-- and I am certain she has not changed-- she had long wavy hair, a lovely red with lighter brown mixed throughout. Flushed cheeks and bright eyes, she was tall, about the height of my youngest brothers. I remember distinctly how graceful and fluid she would be in all her movements, even pouring a glass of miruvor was enthralling to watch.” He blinked and looked down to the maiden on his arm. “And what is _your_ naneth like, Mîrluiniel?” He made himself comfortable calling her by her father-name and asking such a question while they were not so public. Taking a deep breath, she thought of the pieces of detail Galathil would tuck her into bed with, causing her to furrow her brows outwardly. “It goes without saying, you need not tell me…” Concerned that he might have broken upon a tender subject, he began to retract his inquiry but she would not hear of it.

“No, no it’s all right, Maglor. I’m just thinking of what my brothers have told me of her, my Atar never speaks of her. My Naneth died the night I was born. It was deep winter when she and my Atar were far enough away that it was impossible to bring her any nearer to our home before she gave birth. My _older_ brother says she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, that I look much like her.” She shook her head even now at her firstborn kin and his compliment.

“I will agree with your brother on the note of _your_ beauty, though your mother I may not see for some time yet.” Blushing, Kalin smiled down at her fingers fidgeting with her stunted arm and looked away for a moment of longing, for what, Maglor could only assume an image of her naneth. “I am sorry that she could not see the full-grown radiance of her daughter face to face as I’ve been blessed to.” Maglor further complimented her, effecting only in heightening her modesty so that she took a few steps away from him. She moved to the nearest paddock fence where a couple of horses had gathered to receive her attentions. Mîrluiniel took a calming comfort from the thick-coated animals which she pet each in turn, focusing on them instead of the growing amount of affection Maglor laid at her feet. It was difficult not to let those thoughts seep through, however.

Had he not himself been first to mention _Maedhros’_ attraction to her? Even making that the main _focus_ of suggesting she accompany them to Himring? Much as she had grown exceptionally fond of him, it was always in a friendly manner. One of a _confidante_ , nothing romantic, even if there were ample reasons why she should be attentive to him in this way. ‘I’ve never had a suitor… is this what’s supposed to happen? My case may be even _more_ unique, for I’ve no relative that he might ask permission of. _Is_ he courting me? I don’t want him to…’ Debating her circumstances, she knew with finality that Maglor was not the one she desired.

Whether she admitted it to herself or not, she knew inherently that her fate was woven with that of Maedhros’-- from both her visions, however dreadful at times, and her feelings toward him. Her emotions were not often uncertain or confused around Maedhros. Her fёa was certain, even more than her thoughts could be, with whom she belonged.

The cobalt black horse receiving her rub to its ears successfully hid her from Maglor’s view now that he stood across from her, stroking his dappled bay. They were silent for a period of time, only the sweet nickering of the herd interrupting their frore quiet.

“A fool’s voice is known by his many words… Forgive me, Mîrluiniel, for so cumbrously expressing my feelings with such poor carping. I just…” He paused as she peeked her way to see him around the horse’s face and he met her sheer blue eyes. “Whether it be foolish or wise, it is always truth.” The rest of his statement came out clearer, as if focusing on her focused his thoughts.

Relenting, Mîrluiniel knew she completely trusted his honesty and treasured the declamation, though in like words she could never exactly return his sentiments. “I thank you, Maglor. It is your honesty I will always treasure.” They smiled amicably and continued to pet the noble animals until his steed switched and came to _her_ hand, inhaling new scents and fogging her chilled fingers with its warm breath.

“Dǔri is tired of me, I shall have to make due with another nag for a mount.” Maglor sighed in feigned dejection and elicited a jealous whinny from his mare, who then delivered him a push in the arm with her muzzle. Kalin laughed at such antics from both elf and creature and tucked her hand under her left arm to keep warm.

Noticing her quickly growing too cold, Maglor stepped forward to feel her arm through the shawl and frowned. “Look at the kind of attention I give you, you’re freezing cold. Come, Mîrluiniel, let’s get you to a decent flame. My brother’s have done a _superb_ job of providing warm lodgings for the winter months, canvas is the _best_ insulator!” He jested the last with some sarcasm and a rolling of eyes for her to note with amusement. He brought her into a commons tent with a hole at the center of the roof and a fire in the midst just below it.

Celegorm subtly noticed their entrance from his corner as they entered the dwelling and his older brother escorted the elleth to a spot where flames would give sufficient warmth. “Humor us with a pretty song for a pretty lass, Maglor!” He called to his sibling from across the smoldering logs, no matter that he measured Kalin was not completely comfortable with such attention drawn to her. Gladly, the second-born complied, not one to refuse such a request, and began with a catchy limerick that developed into an upbeat chorus. An edhel in another part of the tent produced a flute and played along to the familiar ditty, lightening the mood of the small assembly gathered.

Celegorm smiled to see his hound come into the area with another hunting dog at his side, the latter’s red-haired owner trailing in behind them both, looking doggish himself with head bowed and shoulders slumped under the snow that had fallen upon them. Kalin, also, watched him walk in with the hounds and an unknown smile alighted on her lips, her eyes brightening to an argent blue in response to his presence. Unloading another faggot onto the fire, Maedhros glanced to his singing brother and brought his gaze to Kalin on the other end of the flames, his eyes softening in the kind of greeting that did not pass unnoticed.

“Dance for us, Kalin!” An elf encouraged her to entertain them further as Maglor’s lyrics ran out but the flute played on. Finally she rose with a glow to her cheeks and the rhythmic clapping from elves present helping her along, even from the two younger sons who laughed and enjoyed the warm sight on a cool day. Backing from the fire and hiking her less flexible outer-skirts with one hand, Mîrluiniel set her left arm at the hip to match the other and began her series of skipping steps, hops, and toe slides, keeping to the lively beat with every agile turn and weave between table and elf. A happy flush colored her face and her laughter filled the tent as merrily as any music could, pleasing more than one set of ears with its delightful sound.

With his eyes, Maedhros followed her every move—around and before him— through the dance that was performed with as much grace as any _whole_ elleth; and in his opinion, far more. A spry edhel jumped in and took her by the waist to dance with her, letting her go at intervals for them to dance about each other before then taking hold of her once more.

Kalin gaily complied with him even as he began to make moves that she was unfamiliar with. But three distinct Noldor silenced their clapping if they had previously been doing so, the grins upon their lips slipping slowly away. “Enow! I beg you, let me rest.” Out of breath in the cold air, even within the tent, Mîrluiniel felt the familiar burn in her lungs and was conscious that at least one other knew why she was forced to take a breather. Moving away, she knelt before Taurvantian at a table that kept her mostly out of direct sight. The maiden slowly pet the eager hound with her left arm while her right hand held to her ribs which seemed to inflame with every inhale.

A large hand touched her shoulder and she turned to see Maedhros looking to her with meaning, asking if she was all right without speaking a word. A breath came easily into her lungs at that moment, and she smiled gratefully to him, nodding that she was indeed better. She noted his countenance seemed satisfied with her silent answer.

Vant turned round and licked one of her warm cheeks, receiving her delighted smile before Maedhros playfully pushed him off, a small grin of his own coming out for her to admire. “Kalin, I…” Maedhros made to speak, but was immediately cut off.

“Kalin!” Veassen called to her rudely from across the room as the flute-player ended his song, causing the Fëanorian to flinch away from her. “Celebrimbor is asking for you…” The edhel continued as he came nearer. “He wishes to apologize for his actions.”

Mîrluiniel turned to him impatiently. “Veassen, go tell the young lord that I said he is to be _resting_ as he was instructed, and that he may ask for mine _and_ lord Maglor’s forgiveness later. Go, please.” The elf was sent away and she quickly turned to Maedhros with an apology. “Forgive the interruption, my lord.”

Shaking his head, he kept his gaze tactfully away from hers and upon his hunting dog. “Never mind. Put it from your thought.” He shrugged away whatever proposition he had and she sighed, cursing Veassen’s ill-timed disruption inwardly for the rarity of Maedhros volunteering speech.

He stood, then, and gave her his hand to assist her in the same act. Her now warm fingers felt more than natural in his grasp even as he warred within himself as to whether or not it was a feeling to be taken with pleasure. “Excuse me, my lady. I have some long neglected scrolls that need attending. I thank you for the earlier performed dance, you greatly out-shone your partner.” He grinned and let go of her very slowly. “I hope to repeat the pleasure of seeing you do so, again.” She blushed charmingly and curtsied to him as he bowed his head and turned to leave the tent.

Striding through the trampled snow between lodgings, Maedhros directed his long gait toward the paddocks and sought his horse among the herd. Rúnyadal’s tall, dark head peered over the other horses’ and found his master waiting by the gate, pushing his way through the cluster of warm animals to perhaps warm his Noldo owner. A nicker was granted him as Maedhros stroked the steed on his expressively dignified face. The stallion’s eyes regarded him in a contemplative way until they seemed to inquire after what was on his mind. The Noldo heaved a long breath and sighed, as if the work he’d done that day had left him forwandered and exhausted. “Ah, Rúnya… why must I so frowardly crave what can never come into my possession?” The horse puffed two outlets of steam onto his fingers and pushed the lone appendage downward, signaling in his own way to continue.

Maedhros chuckled before hopelessly beginning again. “Kalin is innocent and beautiful, generous beyond any I know in Arda. How I wish I could love and honor her, as she deserves, for the rest of my life and have that be enough. My life is already so riddled with error and wrong, the oath would never allow us a _peaceful_ happiness. I cannot provide for her what she deserves; a suitable home, _children_ … however greatly I may wish to. I am prevented from ever loving her above all else.” Rúnyadal nipped a few strand of his master’s long red hair and shocked him out of some melancholy with the small pain.

‘My son, how _hopeless_ your voice sounds, and yet your heart is filled with ardor for this maiden.’ Maedhros turned around suddenly at the sound of his mother’s voice behind him, but found nothing except clean snow and the lone tree beside the paddock. ‘Will you deny yourself this one blessing that every elf should receive? Your intentions are true, so why do you not act, Maitimo?’

Falling snow caressed his cheek in the familiar form of his naneth’s fingers and he closed his eyes at the sensation. “Mother, I would not wish the curse of my oath upon anyone, _least_ of all Kalin. Look what it did to you and father…”

‘You are not your father, Maedhros. And I will always love Fëanor… you know this. It was not your father’s oath, alone, that took him away from me, my son. I do not foresee such a thing happening to my children as it occurred between Fëanor and I.’

“Can you be so certain? Everyone I’ve grown close to comes to some harm. I have to protect her, Naneth, already she’s been through too much for me to grieve her further.” He turned back to his mount who now nodded his large head, possibly in concurrence with the last statement made. “I wish her only to be happy… a feat I know she would not lay claim to by becoming my wife.”

A soft sigh was heard on the wind and the warmth of his mother’s kiss touched his brow before she spoke once more. ‘Not all jewels need be made of stone, Maitimo. Learn from your father’s mistake and keep your gems always close at hand.’

Snow caught on the hair before his eyes and he brushed it away with his right arm, the limb catching his attention and reminding him of the mirror loss upon Kalin’s body. “I cannot allow anymore harm to come to her because of me.” He murmured to himself as he painfully flexed fingers that no longer existed.

“You can’t be sure she won’t come to harm becauseof your _absence_ , my brother. Nothing is certain.” Maedhros looked up to see Celegorm beginning to curry and brush the thickened hide of his white steed, Lostar.

The elder of the two shook his head and looked back to his missing hand. “ _Some_ things are certain.”

Celegorm scoffed and gave him the ‘eye’ from where he prepared his horse for a ride. “Whatever doom you’re thinking shall befall _Kalin_ , is not certain.”

“There are several reasons why I do not pursue her, Celegorm.”

“Name _one_.” The younger challenged, to his brother’s growing annoyance.

“If Kalin knew _half_ the terrible things I’ve done… aside from her _mind_ being scarred, she would have every right to choose never to see me again. Whosever family she belongs to has done a precise job of guarding her knowledge, for she knows nothing of the acts we’ve committed…”

“Do not be so sure.”

Sharply, Maedhros turned on his younger sibling and questioned, “What do you mean?”

Celegorm only delayed a moment before clarifying. “Maglor has explained to her the truth of our deeds both on Middle Earth, and in Aman.”

“ _What_? When?”

“It’s been nearly a month, now. You were hunting that day.”

Maedhros remembered then, finding her beside the river, distraught and uncertain. ‘But she accepted my comfort, let me escort her home… After knowing of my _murders_ … my selfish and redeless crimes? How can she stand the _sight_ of me, let alone treat me as kindly as she does?’ His mind raced, unable to fathom her treatment of him still in spite of her newfound knowledge of his deeds. ‘Unless she doesn’t know everything.’ His thoughts suggested, still absolute that she could surely do nothing but _hate_ him after understanding his every act. “She cannot possibly know _all_ that transpired? Why would she still wish to remain here? Or wish to remain _civil_?”

Cel shook his head as if he struggled to believe it, himself. “It _is_ possible… It is _especially_ possible that, knowing her character, she simply _meant_ what she swore at Mereth Atherdad and is holding true to her oath. You and I both know her to be the most benevolent and trusting of ellith.”

Maedhros sighed sadly. “It is not that simple. With more knowledge there can be nothing but more grief… increasing such knowledge, increases one’s sorrow.”

 

“ _Celebrimbor_! No running yet, please!” Mîrluiniel called out to the young lad in a splint, who was in the midst of chasing his father with a snowball. She walked along a deer path near the forest’s edge with lord Celegorm for an escort, watching his brother Curufin bait his son as a good target. “He’ll be sorry he didn’t listen to me when I pack his leg with river ice to relieve the swelling.” She remarked with a grin and shake of her fair head.

“I doubt it. He’ll _complain_ , yes, but he will not regret such an afternoon.” Celegorm chuckled as he spoke with what could only be experience. Kalin smiled, also, certain he was right. They stopped to stand underneath the sporadic limbs of a dying pine and Cel leaned against it for a quiet moment, finally choosing to ask her his question. “Have you decided one way or another about leaving for Himring?”

Crossing her arms with a crocheted shawl close to her chest; Kalin took a deep breath and smiled even as she turned away from him to watch her ward in the snow. “I have.” Somewhat patiently, he waited for the rest of her answer as he watched the ends of her braid flutter in the cold wind that chapped his nephew’s cheeks in his play. “Your oldest brother holds so much grief that sometimes it pains me even to look at him. Maglor told me I have been good for him… and though I _have_ seen him smile once or twice, I can hardly say those were because of me.”

Celegorm stood upright and came at her side to bestow an earnest look. “I assure you, Kalin, they could have been for no other reason _but_ you.”

She blushed and turned her eyes away modestly. “He can be so easily depressed in his own thought. I want him to be content, to have some kind of peace.” She sighed. “If I could give him anything like that…” After a moment she met his eye with a little quirk of a smile. “Will you be fine without me, here?”

He laughed with a puff of fog and glanced sidelong toward his nephew, limping happily with a handful of snow balled up in mitten-clad hands. ‘She’s been good for more elves than Maedhros, only, hasn’t she?’ “We’ll get on, knowing you’re safe.”

Kalin smiled at his answer but blinked suddenly when his eyes cut away from hers and his arm instantly reached out to shield her face, an explosion of snow showering her head and shoulders from having smashed against his forearm. A surprised scream fled her mouth as it happened, and after the powder had settled she looked up to him in mirthful shock, answering his silent inquiry that she was all right.

Both turned their heads to a very guilty looking Celebrimbor and with a tilt of the elleth’s, Kalin gave the Noldo lord her permission to avenge her against his brother’s son. Laughing for a moment with her, he then turned with a growl and pursued his already fleeing nephew. Shaking her head and giggling at the punishment the lad was now receiving from his uncle, Mîrluiniel took off her snow-filled shawl and tried to flap out most of the wet beginnings of ice.

“Can I be of assistance?” A deep voice addressed her warmly from her side and she looked up with a smile to see it was Maedhros, Rúnya following close behind him with only a bridle upon his lovely dark face.

“Oh, yes please. Your nephew got the better of me, I think.” She let him take hold of a corner of the shawl and they both shook out the remaining mess, quickly removing it and allowing her to begin picking out the small chunks from her hair.

Helping her with this also, Maedhros noted there weren’t any marks where she could have been hit, and so inquired. “Did it strike you?”

Shaking her head and encouraging more snow to fall off of her, she replied. “Oh no, Celegorm managed to deflect _that_ pleasantry. If it had, I can assure you there would be another elf chasing after that child with a mission in mind.” He laughed gently as his fingers combed carefully through the hair on her crown and she smiled at the butterfly-sensations that fluttered in her belly and across her skin in response to that combination of actions.

“Are you well? Your cheeks are flushed.” He asked politely and succeeded in spreading the warm color both down her neck and up to her beautifully pointed ears.

“I’m all right, I thank you.” He pulled the covering up over her right shoulder and smiled with a tightened jaw, seeming to be keeping himself from saying something to her. Rúnyadal stepped nearer to his master and reached his head forward to nudge the maiden’s arm, searching for the palm of syrup she usually produced for him to enjoy. With a grin she turned her attention to the animal and stroked his velvety black muzzle. “I haven’t any sweets for you, today, Rúnya.”

Maedhros rubbed his mount’s long, jet mane and smirked. “So _you’re_ the one who’s been making this brute’s lips sticky.” He noted she tensed up momentarily, having been caught, and it troubled him that that should be her first reaction. “Don’t fret over it.” He assured her quickly. “He’s a good lad, he deserves a treat or two.”

Kalin eased into a bright smile. “Well I’m glad for that. I certainly love giving them to him.” She remarked and caught his gaze very quickly with her own before redirecting her eyes to the stallion.

Maedhros studied the way she touched and looked at the horse, checking his carriage and posture, hooves and joints, just as he imagined she’d done countless times with her own steed before the wolves took it from her. He pictured her on the back of a horse, high in the saddle and in beautiful control of the creature beneath her weight as he was certain she once was. “You loved to ride.” He acknowledged, more than asked, her and a grin danced upon her lips and shone through vibrant eyes, even though they remained upon Rúnyadal’s commanding presence.

“Oh yes. There’s not a freedom in the world that is to match it.” She answered in that lovely voice, the one she used only for the horses when she believed herself alone.

“I believe you’re right, my lady, in more ways than you may know.” He murmured and she blinked at the sound of his voice, turning to look up at him quizzically, desirous to know in which ways did he see her to be right. There was a far away look in his eye as he stared at her hand upon the creature’s warm coat and he finally looked at her, an express understanding in is green depths that she wished _she_ understood.

Calmly, he changed the subject and asked her. “I’m to go and groom Rúnyadal, would you care to assist me?” Again, he dealt her a wild card by so easily asking her to accompany him and she was taken aback before politely complying and moving to the opposite side of the animal.

Finding it a tame subject to expand upon, Mîrluiniel inquired of the conveniently relaxed Noldo. “How old is Rúnyadal? Your brother told me you’ve had him since his birth.”

“He is five winters old, and one of the most obedient creatures I’ve ever trained, despite his young age.”

“My Randiriel was of such a temperament, though she was coming upon thirteen birth seasons, herself.” Maedhros chanced a look to her beneath Rúnya’s large head and was pleased that mentioning something from her ‘previous life’ had not at all saddened her expression. Catching his eye, she tilted her head and smirked at this noble elf peeking out from below his own steed. “I can speak about things that occurred before I came here, my lord. They do not _always_ give me pain.”

He allowed a smile in response and nodded. “For that I am thankful. If it were _not_ true then I should know even less of you than I do now, and I assure you my knowledge of this subject is minimal.”

Laughing in her slight way, she quizzed him. “Such a statement begs me to test you, then! What color are my eyes?”

“The purest blue.” He answered her immediately and surprised Mîrluiniel to silence, causing her to look in his direction, saddened that his eyes remained obstinately upon the snow-covered path before him.

“Are they?” Still stunned by his so readily made reply, she pressed him to continue.

“Most assuredly. I will never lie to you.” A timid glance met hers and, pleased beyond expression, Kalin smiled at him as she would smile to coax Celebrimbor out from a hiding place. It worked in much the same manner, she noted, and he smiled at her in return.

In that moment she found herself taking great care and notice of _his_ eyes. How could she not have drawn their detail before now? Unlike many of his brothers, his were not the cloudy grey, but a much more vibrant and richly expressive green. Though clouded at _times,_ at the moment while looking at her they adopted the color of shaded summer grass, with emerald flecks centered around the pitch black of his pupils. Falling out of her focus, she realized he’d caught her gawking and they were already halted at the paddock fence.

“Forgive me for staring so…” He apologized hurriedly and looked away, turning to pick up a currycomb and brush.

Quickly at his side, Mîrluiniel put her hand over his and stopped him with the shock of her touch. “I was staring as well, it’s all right.” He studied her fair hand intently and committed the feel of her soft calluses on the back of his hand to memory. After a moment, his instinctive thoughts screamed at him to flee from her, not to feel these blessed feelings and run from her all the way back to Himring. Clenching his teeth and furrowing his brow to resist the urge of action, he turned his hand over as a gesture to give her a tool and she smiled, seeming to understand the barrier he’d broken through for her. “Thank you.” She said quietly before standing and going to Rúnya’s other side, allowing Maedhros to have a moment and clear his head.

Calmly, Mîrluiniel brushed through Rúnyadal’s beautiful black mane, easily as long as her own hair, and looked up when Maedhros finally stood to curry out the mud and dried slough from the horse’s thickened coat. Quiet for a few minutes more, Mîrluiniel disliked the uncomfortable silence she was afraid that _she_ had caused and sought to remedy it. “Was I rude, earlier, for staring at you? I promise I meant nothing for it, my thoughts simply drifted…”

Keeping his eyes on his work to avoid repeating such an occurrence, he made sure she was not to blame in any way. “Do not distress yourself, I assure you, I am not offended.”

She smiled to herself now that he refused to look at her directly, but as she took several strands of Rúnya’s mane to braid and focus upon, she could feel his eyes upon her. “When do you intend to return to Himring?” She inquired to, hopefully, spark some conversation and the warmth of his gaze snapped to ice as it left her.

“Maglor and I have tentatively set our departure to when my nephew’s leg is healed. It should be fairly soon if I have judged rightly.”

Nodding, she knew it would indeed be soon when they departed and wondered when Celegorm or Maglor would present the idea of her going along with them to their hills. “Does Maglor dwell with you up there? Or does he have his own domain?”

“Maglor lives in my fortress often enough to have his own chambers, but dwells much with his men while on the March. We frequently trade places keeping the patrol and barracks.”

“What kind of a place is your barracks? Do you have many elves in company?”

He looked over at her while making long sweeps of his curry over the horse’s rear and found himself pleased that she wished to learn more about his settlement. “It is strongly built; stones and mortar as opposed to Celegorm’s camp, for this is more cavalry post than stronghold. I have many Noldorin soldiers and while many of them have found their life-mates, only a choice few have begun families. It may be a peaceful time now, but I understand why many would consider it too dangerous to have a child in such a location. My fort is built sturdily for the express purpose of dwelling so far east, nearer to the Enemy.”

Kalin finished Rúnya’s mane and went around to comb out the tangles from his long tail, close to where Maedhros worked. To him, it seemed she was thinking intently upon all that he’d said, and he wondered what she made of it.

Just when he had almost bolstered himself enough to ask for her company on a ride, he heard his nephew’s laughter and they both turned to see Celebrimbor hop running towards them, Celegorm in close pursuit. “Kalin! Uncle’s after me, _help_!” The lad squealed as he hid behind her in her skirts and the elleth snickered to see said Uncle approaching, his long blonde hair matted in snow while wet masses of melting flakes tucked into every wrinkle of his clothes.

“My dear, it seems as though you certainly deserve whatever fate he has in store for you.” She shared an amused look with Maedhros as Celegorm stalked around her, Celeb always hobbling on the opposite side.

“Don’t stand in my way, Kalin, that tot is as good as mine.” The blonde Fëanorian threatened as another yelp was heard from behind her dress and Kalin could hardly hold in her laughter at the situation she now found herself a part of. Quickly, in a moment of bravery, the young one took hold of her stunted arm and fled with her through the snow, escaping with the damsel.

“I’ll get you yet!” Celegorm held out his fist toward the retreating pair and then shook his hands through his hair to rid himself of the load of white. Patting Rúnyadal, he approached Maedhros and faced him from the other side of the stallion’s hindquarters. Both edhil watched their nephew play with the maiden with a smile and Celegorm at length turned to his older brother. “You and Maglor will be heading off, soon, now that Celeb is nearly well?”

The eldest furrowed his brow-- still looking after the elfling and elleth-- at the thought of leaving. He turned somberly back to cleaning Rúnyadal. “I suppose.” He answered briefly, not caring to volunteer any of his feelings on the matter.

Looking back to where Kalin and Celebrimbor were joined in their play by the lad’s father, Celegorm ventured to throw out the proposition he’d long been plotting and thinking over. “What would you say to bringing Kalin back along with your party to Himring?”

Maedhros’ hand stopped mid-stroke upon the stallion’s coat and he paused before turning his eyes to his brother. “What? What are you trying at?”

“I just know that, aside from Celebrimbor, she has no _real_ ties here. And in Himring there are ellith for her to befriend and talk with, _unlike_ here.”

Maedhros shook his head and gestured with his right arm to Celeb in the snow-laden field. “And you would abandon our nephew of the only source of encouragement and out-going nature he’s had since his Naneth was taken from him? There are _others_ to think of, Cel.”

“I _am_ thinking of others, Maedhros. Celebrimbor does not need a nurse any longer.”

“The lad’s only _thirteen_!” He argued. “You, _yourself_ , had only learnt to play with sticks as swords at such an age.”

“And look how progressed he is, already! In any case, I am aware you’re arguing this for a purpose other than our nephew’s development.”

The statement earned him a warning glare from the eldest with lowered crimson brows. Thinking of Kalin as his brother’s insinuation pertained, thoughts and snippets of his previous conversation with the elleth were evoked and he remembered her words in a new light. ‘What kind of place is your fort? … When do you intend to return to Himring?’ She already _knew_.

Anger flared within him now that he had found out his brother’s scheme, but was not withheld from burning himself, also, for having let down his guard so to have not witnessed such clues earlier. “Has she made _her_ choice, then?” Bitterly, he asked, and Celegorm answered, hopeful that Kalin’s desires would at least hold some sway over the elder’s decision.

“Yes. She’s told me only today that she has agreed to make the journey.” With a clenched jaw, Maedhros closed his eyes and then opened them to see Kalin adjusting his nephew’s scarf in the distance, a shadow of foresight passing before his eyes that envisioned her doing the same thing to another child with deep auburn curls.

“ _Maedhros_ , if she is going to dwell with the Noldor, let her at least enjoy more than the company of one young boy and his only relatives. She is young, herself! Bind her not to only one way of living. Even before coming into our care, she was not _tied_ to one home. And she’s adapted to different circumstances and environs far more easily than I’d ever have thought possible. She can _handle_ it.” Celegorm talked his father’s first-born into thinking more for _Kalin’s_ welfare and needs, than only his own obstinate choices.

The reluctant Noldo looked to his younger brother in a hopeless manner. “Is she waiting for my answer, or has the decision been made without me?”

“It _is_ banking on your approval.” Celegorm supplied, and immediately regretted it upon seeing his brother’s mind working through his expressive eyes.

Maedhros cared about Kalin’s well being in more ways than most others, but looked again at the larger picture, remembering every inhibition he’d ever carried about coming close to the woman. The more time he spent in her company, the more he was _drawn_ to her presence: her vivacity, her purity, and her beauty. There were now only few moments where his mind somehow controlled his thoughts of her and kept them at bay. It was becoming dangerous.

Religiously, he held the belief that he would bring her to ruin in some form or another the longer he remained near, and, hate it though he did, the fact remained before him that it would never be safe to pursue her. With all his being, he desired to _protect_ her, and if that meant keeping away, then he would do so. He had already grown too close, and with a deep breath he became resolute in his decision and informed Celegorm as much. Kalin was _not_ coming to Himring.


	7. Our Words Journey

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 7** /?

 ** _Chapter Summary:_** _More and more, Maglor was coming to see how deeply he felt for Mîrluiniel in ways aside from simple attraction. When it came down to it, the only question was: whom did he love more… this maiden, or his brother?_

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. ಠ_ಠ

 

That evening, after dinner had been consumed in a common tent, Mîrluiniel sat at a long table talking with Maglor, watching as a comrade of his taught Celebrimbor the intricacies of whittling and carving wood. Yet even during this, she could not keep her mind off of how abruptly Maedhros’ temperament had darkened, even from their conversation earlier in the day.

Now she took note that Celegorm seemed to be trying once more at an audience with him. What had been said between the two of them to cause such a sudden hardness of character? The Noldo lord did not even give her a passing glance as she served his meal that evening; the flexing of his jaw was all she could perceive as acknowledgment. At length, the first and third sons of Fëanor rose from their seats, daggers flying from their eyes and into each other’s as they exited in a deafening silence.

Being the observer that she was, Kalin studied carefully the only two brothers remaining and witnessed them both share a look of meaning as their kin left the tent. Her curiosity piqued further as Curufin stood also to leave the canvas common room, using the same exit that his brothers had only moments prior. Maglor shifted in his seat beside her and distractedly engaged her in conversation for a few minutes longer. After glancing toward the same tent flap once more, he sighed and turned to her with a handsome smile, politely excusing himself from her company. He then echoed the other Fëanorians’ actions.

“Kalin, look what _I_ did!” Celebrimbor eagerly showed her a small strip of wood with the eight-pointed star of his grandfather’s house etched upon it.

“That’s wonderful, Celeb. Have you thanked Calanon for teaching you?” The elfling returned to the edhel’s side and did as he was reminded to do, being pulled into the soldier’s lap familiarly with a chuckle.

The elf smiled at her, explaining. “I have twins about this one’s age, a boy and girl, at home in Himring. They are under my sister’s care now that my wife has gone to Mandos.”

With a considerate expression, Kalin touched his arm and gave her condolences. “I am grieved for you, my friend. When did she fade?”

“She lived long enough to wean my children of her milk, but could not endure the harsh changes of this land. I should never have taken her from Valinor.” He managed only a small smile for her before it grew again by returning his attention to Celebrimbor. She still saw how his brow had changed in remembrance and had truly meant it when she said she grieved for him. She and Calanon conversed further for some time about pleasanter things, but it did not keep her thoughts long away from the Fëanorians outside in the cold night.

“Kalin, where is Atar? I want to show him what I made.” Celeb turned to her after searching the tent full of edhil with his young eyes, keen though they were.

Mîrluiniel glanced toward the tent flap once more before answering him. “He is outside talking with your uncles. Best not to interrupt them, dearest.”

Calanon snorted quietly and looked sidelong toward her as he remarked, unknown to the lad on the carpet beneath them. “It certainly _is_ best.”

She regarded him inquisitively, and pressed. “What do you mean by that?”

He looked at her somewhat doubtfully but discerned that her words and expression were in earnest. “I will say only that Fëanor was possibly the single most _passionate_ elf that will ever breathe. His offspring inherited each a share of that violence and exert it under frequent circumstances.” A spark of realization flickered in her eyes and he turned away to show the elfling something with his carving blade, knowing he had made his point clear.

Uncertainty and concern welled in her chest now at Calanon’s words. Kalin watched the same tent flap intently for a minute or two and finally made to go and find the brothers when Calanon stayed her with a hand upon her wrist. She turned to him questioningly and he shook his head gently. “My lady, it is good if you do as you instructed the boy. It’s best not to interrupt.” Hesitating, Mîrluiniel leaned against his grip on her and turned to look once more at that flap. “They are full-grown elves, I promise you. Let them be.” With a sigh she accepted his words and sat uncomfortably in her seat to watch her charge carefully etch out tiny stars at the points of his larger eight-pointed emblem.

 

It was much later, Celebrimbor had been put to bed and Mîrluiniel was on her way to such an end herself, and she was wringing her hair out from a hot bath quickly drawn when her friend Ruscion, a fellow healer, called to her from outside the tent. Hastily, she tied the ribbon around the waist of her long-sleeved chemise and threw a blanket over her shoulders to answer him. The canvas was pulled back partially and Kalin asked. “Ruscion, what is it?”

He sighed and consequently blew a long cloud of fog in the frigid moonlit air. “Our lords, sons of Fëanor, have returned. I have need of your aid. Please, come with me when you are ready.” She followed him closely toward the healing tent and inquired, but was answered before even getting out the words. “I know not what they argued over, but they _all_ fought. They’re beaten quite badly and I’d like you to help me set a few bones and bandage them up.”

The elleth nodded as they went into the canvas building and were met with three bloodied, bruised, and wet elves with confident, almost smug, grins on their faces. Mîrluiniel found herself sighing as well, not only at the sorry sight of them, but the fact that Maedhros was not among them could only mean he had _lost_ whatever spat that had occurred. She went first to Maglor and laid her blanket aside to better attend him.

“Hello Kalin.” He greeted her in a pained voice, amazingly still pleasant in tone. She helped him remove his snow-soaked tunics and revealed greenish-black bruises around his midsection and ribs where angered blows had been dealt.

She winced with a shake of her head. “Are you _all_ as bad as this?” She asked in exasperation.

He coughed out a small laugh. “Worse.”

“Where is Maedhros?”

“Licking his wounds in his own chambers, no doubt. I will take care of him when you are finished with me.”

She objected. “You are hardly in a condition to be taking care of others. _I_ will go to him.”

He shook his head in return. “I do not think that is a good idea…”

She cut him off by setting the broken wrist bone that was protruding at an odd angle, speaking while he caught his breath over it. “If he is worse than all of you, of which I am certain, then he shall need more tending than _you_ can provide tonight.” Kalin became silent as she wrapped clean bandaging about his forearm with his help and, between measured breaths and a broken rib, he also said little. Once that was tied, she stopped and looked into his eyes with a serious gaze, speaking quietly. “Maglor, I have an idea of what took place. But I want to know _exactly_ what happened and why. And I want to hear it from your lips.”

Her hand still near to his where he had earlier aided her, Maglor took her fingers gently in his and assured her carefully. “I promise you I will tell you everything, but at another time. I beg you to be patient in this matter.” Regarding him for a moment longer, she finally conceded and turned his face toward her to address a cut brow and blackened eye. From the serious expression he had adopted, he eased into an admiring smile as he watched her take care of him. “You look lovely, Mîrluiniel.” He complimented her, quietly using her name, and she kept her eyes on her work, but smiled.

“You’re ridiculous. My hair is dripping wet, and I’m in nothing but a shift.”

She made to unarm his compliment, but he only built it up again. “I said nothing of your hair and clothing… _You_ look lovely.” She cut her clear eyes to him and smirked.

“Kalin how is my son?” Curufin inquired once he saw their conversation had lulled, nursing his own knuckles that punches had swollen and bloodied.

“He is well, my lord, and expecting you to tell him good night once you return.” They shared a smile and she resumed preparing the second eldest son for stitches. Her thoughts strayed to Maedhros, however; whether he was in his quarters or not, how badly his wounds were, if this fight was greatly going to change how he treated her. Blast it, if they succeeded in completely backtracking her progress of trust between the lord and herself.

 

Above an hour—of setting bones and suturing cuts that were worse than what might be expected from an ambush—passed before Mîrluiniel knew she was no longer needed and gathered some supplies in a satchel, bent on finding Fëanor’s eldest son. She passed by the paddocks to make certain he wasn’t with Rúnyadal, and was assured to see the stallion sleeping on his own near his familiar herd. With a smile, she passed on and went to the Noldo lord’s tent where the glow of light from within was clearly visible.

Only a little anxious to essentially be ‘barging’ in to take _care_ of him, Kalin walked up to the canvas entrance and called out. “My lord?”

She heard a rustling of movement inside, and then a rougher version of Maedhros’ voice responded defensively. “What do you want?”

Mîrluiniel bit her lip. He sounded in pain. “My lord, it’s Kalin. I know you are hurt and I’ve brought things to help me care for you. May I enter?”

“I can care for myself.” The statement was said after what sounded like a gasp and ripping of fabric.

“I _believe_ you, but I know that I can aid in ways that you cannot do for yourself. I am coming in.” She gave him a moment of warning and then pushed through the thick fabric door to go inside. Maedhros stood in the middle of his temporary chambers, hunched over a washbasin filled with bloodstained water. Shirtless, and wearing only a pair of darkly dyed cotton trousers, she could clearly see where his brothers had dealt force upon his already tortured body. Severely bruised ribs, a swollen black eye, the reopened gash in his side, perhaps three broken fingers, and an abdomen that rivaled the black of a forest’s pool for the depth of bruising there.

Her eyes quickly surveyed his damages and she bade him turn around as she came closer. Picking up the rag he had abandoned to the semi-warm bath, she squeezed only a little excess water out before placing it on his back to wipe away some dried blood from his scarred skin.

“I do not need your assistance.” He protested once more, even while he obeyed her directions and allowed her to tend him, as he was unable to.

Deftly, she wiped over finger shaped bruises on his neck and shoulders and then turned him so she could focus on the mess around his partially reopened slash. “I know this. But I give my aid freely, you should accept it.” Glancing to his hand, she observed that he had set two broken fingers-- she knew not how-- but they were devoid of the splint and wrappings he needed. He was having difficulties breathing because of the afore-mentioned bruises on his ribs and she took careful note of his rasping inhales. “Do you want to sit down?” She asked gently and looked up to him, her gaze steady even though he avoided her eyes.

He hesitated a moment but at last stalked to his bed and sat down stiffly, giving her a minute to gather needle and thread to sew him up again. Kneeling before him, she moved his arm to prop on her shoulder, much like they had done before, and pulled the needle through tender flesh. Wincing, he ground his teeth and tried to take breaths evenly in spite of his many inhibitions.

Mîrluiniel wished he would say something, anything, but she knew better than that and so continued to mend his cuts and other hurts in silence. Maedhros barely breathed, and it worried her that the reason could be broken ribs constricting his lungs. Her hand tried with all its might to be a comfort and heal what needed her care. It took as long to tend to this one elf as it had for his other three brothers combined. When she had tied off the bandaging that held together his finger splint, Kalin once again attempted to make eye contact, succeeding for all of one instant before her patient looked away in the pain of injury and something deeper.

With stiff and halting motions, Maedhros stood from the bed and away from her to his changing screen where a loose tunic hung to be worn. He stretched his arms up painfully to put it on and the elleth immediately came to his side to assist him. Her hand grazed his chest and he caught it with his own, holding it close, though still his eyes remained strictly lowered. “Kalin…” He closed his eyes with instant regret, securely tucking away whatever it was he had addressed her for in the first place and instead gazed down to her hand placed so carefully between his swollen and bandaged fingers. “ _Thank_ you… for not listening when I refuse your aid. It is appreciated more than you know.” His eyes stubbornly kept away from hers, and he held to her sweet hand only a moment longer before releasing it.

Thankful that his temperament had at last cooled enough for him to speak, Mîrluiniel made certain he knew her eyes sought his and replied. “If you ever need care, Maedhros, you can be sure I will always give it.” She went to a bowl of snow sitting on the tub rim and brought it to him, instructing that he should pack it for his hand and brow before gathering her healing tools to leave. “Good eve, my lord.”

Her voice tormented his ears as she departed and he shut his eyes tightly to keep from watching her go. A hoarse whisper left him. “Good bye, Kalin.”

 

“Kalin! _Kalin_! Calanon left and didn’t even say good-bye! I wanted to show him what I made last night when Atar came home, _look_.” Celebrimbor thrust into her hand the same trinket he had carved the night before, but now with tiny beads of silver dropped and shaped into the stars at each point. 

Frowning in confusion, Mîrluiniel briefly complimented the piece but asked him further, abandoning the lembas filling she had been stirring. “Celeb what do you mean he’s left? Your uncles aren’t leaving for a week, yet.”

“Atar told me uncle Maedhros took some of them away this morning before the sun even came up.”

This news also surprised her, considering she had _just_ seen the injured Noldo the night before. ‘He must have gone just an instant after I left.’ Her thoughts explained. Not sure what to think, or even what to tell Celebrimbor, Mîrluiniel spooned out a little of the sweet lembas mixture and gave it to him to run along with and enjoy. ‘What could they have fought over to make Maedhros desire such a hasty departure? Perhaps Maglor will tell me today.’ As she continued to make her waybread, she could only worry about the Noldorin prince: his reasons for going, the wounds he would aggravate by riding, where he would receive healing, if he would receive it at all.

“Good morning, my lady.” Maglor’s voice came from behind her and Kalin turned with a somewhat distressed greeting. He didn’t have to look long upon her countenance to guess the _source_ of her distress and, discreetly, he took her aside in one corner of the tent. “I allowed him to take whatever elves that wished to accompany him back to Himring this morning. The sun had not risen before the dust settled from their departure.”

“Maglor, why has he reacted so strongly to this? What was fought over?”

He sighed and glanced down to his boots before gazing back at her crystal eyes with an apology. “Mîrluiniel, I know this is unfair to you, but please do not ask that of me at this time.”

“Was it about _me_ , Maglor? Does he not… does he feel nothing for me?” She chanced voicing her insecurities to her dear friend and with a ‘ _tsk’_ Maglor stepped forward and carefully held her against him in a comforting gesture.

“Don’t ever believe that. He feels more deeply for you than I’ve ever seen him feel for anyone. In his mind, he believes he protects you by acting this way. Youhave done _nothing_ that would accomplish aught but endear us more to you.” He took a breath. “Maedhros has a multitude of demons to battle every day, and I’m afraid they give him little rest.” The second-born Fëanorian pulled away and gave her an encouraging smile that looked pitiful enough with his darkly colored eye and a stitched lip staring at her.

She smiled also and nodded in acknowledgement to what all he had said. “Thank you. You’re so certain… it is a most welcome assurance.”

He nodded and squeezed her arm in his familiar way. “Well, enjoy your moment of comfort, because I _do_ have to let Celebrimbor know that his terrible Uncle is taking you away soon. It’s likely we’ll neither of us have a moment’s peace, afterward.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without that child.”

She shook her head with a saddened smile before he linked her arm through his and informed her with a grin. “Nonsense! You’ll be keeping _me_ company, and…” He added in a mock whisper. “ _’Wooing’_ a certain first born lord.”

With an elbow to his healing ribs, Kalin quieted his teasing and he nursed an aching side.

 

“ _You’re_ leaving? You _can’t_ leave us, Kalin! What will we eat? Who will teach me? I don’t want you to leave!” Celebrimbor wrapped his little arms around her waist and shook his head as Mîrluiniel’s hand stroked his soft blonde hair.

“Dearest, there are _other_ elves that can cook in this camp, and your father and Veassen will tutor you. I am certain you will learn just as much-- if not much _more_ \-- from them as from me.”

The lad held her even more tightly. “But they’re not you. _You_ are my teacher, aren’t you, Kalin?” He looked up to her from dampened skirts with those innocent eyes clouded in tears.

Her brow furrowed at the sight of her young ward in such distress and she held him by his sweetly curved chin. “Yes, love, I am your teacher. And I won’t be away forever, I promise you. What would I do without _you_ , Celeb?”

With a sigh the elfling hid his face once more into the folds of her dress and, muffled though it was, gave her his hopeless little answer. “ _I_ don’t know…” Kalin smiled at his pitiful reply and held him close, certain that she was going to miss this sweet familiarity in such an unfamiliar place as Himring. Subtly, she directed him toward his bed and set him upon it, sitting at his side as she often did when tucking him in at night.

Pulling his fur and blankets around him, Celebrimbor snuggled into her side and gladly let her hold him. “Kalin?”

He began to ask and she responded. “Yes, dearest?”

He situated himself for a moment longer before continuing. “Do you love uncle Maedhros?”

The question took her off-guard at its directness and she had to think of an acceptable answer for him. “Why do you ask that, Celeb?”

She felt his shrug. “When I see you talk to him, you act _differently_ than you do when talking with Atar or uncle Celegorm. _He_ does, too.”

Kalin took a deep breath and absorbed his words before replying. “I do like him very much. But I think I know too little of him to truly _love_ him.”

“I think he loves _you_.”

She giggled and squeezed him playfully at his sides. “Is that what you think? _Is_ it?” Her fingers found his sensitive areas and she tickled him mercilessly until he was red in the face and she kissed both of those rosy cheeks before letting up. “I love _you_ , and that is as far as my heart will allow, for now. _You_ need to sleep, dearest.”

“Wait! I have something…” The lad pulled away from her and dug through a pile of his things at the end of the bed, retrieving the relic he sought and tucking it into her palm. “Here, for you to remember.”

In her hand the elleth held the little piece of carved wood, the eight-point star etched a little deeper than the first time he showed her the new work. Pressing it with a touched smile, she kissed him again. “Thank you, Celeb.”

Hugging her neck tightly, he kissed her cheek also and then slid under his covers to keep warm. “I love you, Kalin.”

She stopped at the opening of his tent and grinned back at the sleepy boy. “Good night, little one.” Mîrluiniel shut his tent flap quickly to keep in the warmth and turned to trek through the snow toward the paddocks, tucking the precious little thing in the safety of her pocket for now. Nearing the horses, she shivered and folded her arms over each other.

“Out alone, my lady?” Curufin’s voice was welcome at her side and he gave her his cloak before reaching out to pet one the steeds that had come up to them. He leaned onto the thick wooden beams and looked at her for a moment, gauging the elleth’s emotions and studying her face in the dimmed light. “You shall be sorely missed, Kalin. If my brothers fail to attend to you properly, my camp is always open.”

She smiled and thanked him genuinely before pausing, and then drawing enough courage around her to voice a thought. “Curufin, might I beg of you to answer me a question concerning your eldest brother?”

Resting in a thoughtful position, he regarded her and spoke. “I may or may not be able to answer you _fully_ , but you can inquire anything of me.”

Kalin looked away and drew in a breath, the sigh escaping that breath forming a subtle cloud of fog before her mouth. “Am I the cause of his sudden departure this day? Would an elf do such a thing to the one he loved?”

A comforting hand grasped hers in the darkness and he told her. “The first question I shall answer also with my reply to the second: an elf would do such to the one he loved _too_ much.”

Mîrluiniel shook her head. “One cannot love another too much. It is a scarcity, if _that_.”

“But it _does_ happen, though as you say, rarely. It happens. Maedhros will know you, eventually. Things do not move quickly or without ample thought around such an elf.”

Looking down, and a little ill content with his truthful answers, Mîrluiniel rolled over the thoughts of Maedhros in her head. ‘Even Celebrimbor knows and sees his love for me… Perhaps I should trust them in this, and not worry as I do.’ Kalin settled in her mind to be patient and focus on other things. She would have to get used to an entirely different place and people now. But there would be ellith and other children. It could be a wonderful beginning if she chose to make it one. As Curufin escorted her back, she decided that it _would._

 

Still uncertain about riding by herself, Mîrluiniel was glad to have Maglor and his strong mare to ride out the journey with. She thought of the pitiful picture she and Celebrimbor had made that morning, flushed cheeks and tearing eyes as they embraced one another. ‘How different will he look when I see him again?’ She pondered regretfully, but was confident no one could raise him better than his father.

Bouncing along through the serene landscapes of snowy fields and forests, Kalin couldn’t help but note that Dûri’s trot was nothing in comparison to a smooth ride upon Rúnyadal’s back. She missed the stallion and hoped that she would get to see him soon.

“How are you back there?” Maglor checked on his welcome extra passenger and Mîrluiniel responded positively behind him. He confessed, he was pleased to somewhat have her to himself on this trip. Certainly, he knew that her thoughts were not of him, yet the feel of her closeness and arms around his waist were enough to satiate him without idle conversation drawing their attention to one another. The more he got to know the elleth; the more ardor he held for her and affection blossomed within him for her sweet temper. Jealousy seeped steadily into his being when his older brother drew Kalin’s attention and held it so effortlessly. In the back of his mind, Maglor knew she was Maedhros’ match, that their fates would imminently intertwine and she was what his despondent brother needed to come alive once more.

Kalin was pleasing in manner and beautiful, elegant and loving. How could he _not_ admire and respect such a generous lady? She reminded him greatly of his mother, Nerdanel. Only when he had described his naneth to Kalin that day did he realize how greatly in temperament they were alike. More and more, Maglor was coming to see how deeply he felt for Mîrluiniel in ways aside from simple attraction. When it came down to it, the only question was: whom did he love more… this maiden, or his brother?

 

Mîrluiniel lay by the fire that night and listened to Maglor as he sang. It was nothing grand or special, more of a hummed tune to one’s self, but it was lovely and the tightness of emotion in her throat eased gently away as she was put to sleep by it. The tall elf passed behind her unconscious form and added another fur-lined cloak to keep the chill of falling snow away. His song turned more into a lullaby as he carefully looped one of her soft white curls around a finger and returned to the opposite end of the fire, folding his arms and leaning back against the wide-girthed tree to watch her quietly.

Once his eyes were shut and his mind put to rest at last, Kalin arose and returned to him the cloak, thoughtfully draping it around his shoulders that bore no more than leather and chain mail. With a kiss to his unknowing brow, she stealthily wrapped back into her own coverings and fell once again into slumber, an innocent smile lingering upon her lips as she did so.

 

“If we follow the river, we’ll arrive by noon-day tomorrow. We _could_ make it by morning, but I don’t want to push through the night.” Maglor looked up above them and turned around to check with the elleth before continuing, “With this wind and the looks of that sky, I’d say Manwë is going to give us a bit of a storm anyway.” Urging Dûri up over a fallen tree, he gave Kalin’s knee a pat and looked sideways with a grin that she clearly saw. “Nothing we should be worried over.”

“Can you sing the wind to sleep, now?” She teased and was answered with his handsome laugh.

“If only, then how nice so many things would be!” In a jovial mood, Maglor led his mare along a deer path off their trail and trotted through until he came to a creek that they followed up to a partially frozen waterfall.

Mîrluiniel gasped and peeked out from behind him to see it. “Oh, Maglor, it’s beautiful. You must take me here again when it has thawed.”

He turned to see the light in her eyes and smiled to have placed it there. With a nod, he pulled the reins to direct them back and regroup. “I promise you, I shall.”

 

The weather did indeed come to pass as Maglor had predicted, the wind’s frigid bit from across the river finally forcing the company to stop their travel early and seek shelter. The clouds thickened and got darker as night came upon them, bringing strong blowing snow in its gusts. Fixing lean-to’s for themselves with dead limbs and spruce boughs, the elves settled in for a long night and huddled together for some little warmth.

Maglor came over by Kalin’s pitifully huddled appearance and sat shoulder to shoulder with her, handing her a flask of unknown drink that she accepted gladly. “It has no fancy crystal to carry it, but the miruvor will warm you.”

Shivering a smile in thanks, she took a sip and then two long droughts of the good elven liquor before returning it to him. “Thank you. Do you think this din will let up by morning?”

The Noldo took a long drink himself and put an arm around her, allowing her to nestle freely into his heat. “It will take a lot of singing, but I think I can manage it.” They shared a grin between them and then Kalin once more pressed her cheek to his warm chest. Maglor liked her tucked in so close to him as she was, encouraging her by gently massaging her blood to flow warmly through her back and arm. “Sleep well, Mîrluiniel.” He murmured quietly to her and rested his chin upon her crown, shielding her further from any snow that dared disturb her respite.


	8. Winds Come to Him and Say

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 8** /?

 **Chapter Summary:** Could he possibly bend and break the oath enough to cherish Kalin above any Silmaril?

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. ಠ_ಠ

 

The next morning was spent traversing through mountainous hills and winding paths that varied from dry and frozen riverbeds, to tree-enshrouded ravines. Mîrluiniel was almost certain she could not find her way out again if she tried. In a corner of her mind, she wondered if Maglor was leading them this way to purposefully disorient her, but she dismissed the idea immediately. He was just taking them through this for everyone’s safety; there was surely a more open path for large numbers to pass in and out.

Though much of it was currently barren and white, Kalin still found everything to be very beautiful among the rocks and imposing trees. It was a treacherous beauty, to be sure, but to her it made it that much more spectacular. Maglor subtly shifted in the saddle to observe her taking in her surroundings and could not help but feel pride swell within his chest to see her so obviously pleased with the landscape. Catching his eye, she smiled in approval and they cantered past the line of trees where at last a view of the hill was afforded. It could easily swallow the size of Celegorm and Curufin’s entire camp twice or three times again with its extent.

“My lady, welcome to Himring.” He said to her as his men came up behind them and they collectively galloped with eagerness to their home. As they passed through the opened gate, Mirluiniel was pleased to see children running about and after them, waving to the returning fathers, uncles and brothers. It was more than she had expected, but still, their number could not have exceeded a dozen, mixed in age from toddler to young ellith and edhil.

High stone walls, three stories and more in the corner towers, surrounded her as she became part of the keep, her eyes meeting the welcoming sets of ellith that had come from their houses to greet them. She couldn’t have been happier to see them looking upon her kindly, and not as some stranger that wasn’t to be met.

“Hail! My brother has returned at last!” The voice came from an elf wearing a great fur-trimmed cloak and whose stature greatly resembled that of every Fëanorian she had thus far met-- never mind that his call to Maglor was evidence enough of his relation to the sons.

Her escort soon addressed him and volunteered his name for her ears. “Caranthir! I had thought you still in Thargelion! When did you arrive?”

“ _Maedhros_ summoned me. I arrived only late last night.” His dark eyes moved to the fair elleth curiously, noting how striking she looked for an elf. She was certainly not of the Noldor. “Have you brought us a beauty, now? Who is this lass you’ve surely stolen from Elbereth’s maidens, Maglor?”

Dismounting first, the eldest of the two reached up and smoothly carried Kalin down by her waist, turning to present her to his brother. “This is _Kalin_. My lady, this is another of my brothers, Caranthir.”

The introduced edhel took her single hand and brushed a kiss upon it in greeting, murmuring to her, yet not taking care to keep his words unheard. “His only brother of _consequence_ , I think he meant to say.” His egotistical jest evoked her sweet laughter and signaled a look to be shared between the present kin, wordlessly explaining many things to the younger sibling.

“You must be tired, my lady. I am Remethiel; shall I show you to your rooms so that you may rest?” A pretty, raven-haired elleth approached her kindly, though looked more to Maglor for an answer, than to her.

The Noldo lord gave his lovely charge a reassuring glance and nodded for the elven woman to do as she had offered. “I will check on you within an hour, is that well?” He asked her and received her pleasing smile before allowing the Noldorin woman to lead her away.

“You are very fortunate to have such an elf looking after you, my lady. In my own experience, Noldorin edhil are everything loyal when it comes to their ladies.” Remethiel explained to her as they passed through stone halls and Mîrluiniel could not but be flattered and a little alarmed from the lady’s context. The elven woman walked on a little before glancing her way and immediately perceived her distress. “You are not comfortable with my saying such?”

Quickly, the snow-hued blonde corrected the interpretation of her silence. “No, I am simply not used to such being said.” The Sindarin elleth paused a moment before choosing to confide in this new friend. “Is it _very_ clear that lord Maglor admires me?”

Remethiel then stopped at a deeply carved door and gave her full attention. “I have seen you only just since you arrived, Kalin, and I can tell you _honestly_ that, yes, it is very clear… But, do you not hold the affection for lord Maglor as he does you?”

She could only shrug. “Sometimes I am confused, but I know for certain that I do not hold the same ardor for him that he may hold for me.”

“I’m afraid, I do not understand. Maglor has very much to be desired in a man, and even more so for a life-mate, how…” She looked to Kalin with a secretive glint in her grey eyes. “Is there _another_ , then?”

It took but a moment for the fair elleth to blush and only a moment longer before she nodded in reply. “I am more assured every day that there is.” Remethiel smiled kindly and opened the door they had stopped at to let her inside her new chambers.

It was an impeccably large room with a bed in the center, surrounded and covered in furs, a sitting chair with a desk, and a great fireplace to one side with an adjoining room for bathing on the other. Mîrluiniel couldn’t have asked for more, and almost thought to ask for _less_ , that is, until her hand caressed the soft bed and thick pelts, not realizing that her body begged for the warmth of such a bed to contrast the previous nights which had been spent wind-chapped and shivering. She quickly thought better of asking for a demoted room.

“Lord Maedhros made certain that I have plenty of furs for you to stay warm, he mentioned briefly that you were not used to the long winters we have here. Everything was seen to just before his departure for the Marches.”

Kalin turned to her, surprised. “Lord _Maedhros_? He’s already left?”

The darker-dressed elleth nodded. “He rode for his patrol a day after his arrival. He would have left an instant after arriving had he not been in such sore condition. I had him stay long enough to rest at least _one_ night. The elf took _every_ care to see that you would be settled in these rooms. ‘To give up his very _chamber_ ,’ I said, ‘she must be a splendid woman.’ And I see now that she is, indeed.”

Her sweet smile was a comfort, yet Kalin was still seeking to grasp all that her acquaintance had said. That he would subject his, still fresh, wounds to such biting cold further north on his March, just to avoid her presence; and then to give her his own rooms while he was away, just to ensure her comfort! It was baffling.

“I won’t press you as to whom your ‘ _other’_ is…” The woman continued with a grin that any friend might use with another. “But seeing your reaction to what I’ve just said, I believe I have something of an idea.” She made her way to the door but turned back, satisfied to see another blush creeping up the fair maiden’s neck and to her cheeks. “You need not tell me anything this moment, my lady, we shall have a great deal of time to spend together now that you’re here. But I _would_ dearly love to know it all.”

Kalin allowed a slightly embarrassed laugh to bubble out from her throat and was joined in it with her new friend even as the door came closed and she was instructed to rest. ‘I must be all that is transparent to any creature with _eyes_.’ Mîrluiniel exasperated to herself and sat upon the wonderful bed, already warmed by the tended flames just close enough.

Looking around and studying her room with a new interest now that she knew of its previous occupant, she took careful note of the chair next to her, the two corner windows which were blanketed to keep in the heat ad outwardly shuttered to keep out the cold. Later, she would learn that her chambers were on the very northwest corner, and therefore carried windows with views both to the north, of unknown territory, and west toward her old home of Doriath.

Quite barren otherwise, Mîrluiniel could easily see how this had been the eldest Fëanorian’s chamber. Standing, she gently laid her hand upon the strong wooden mantle and looked into the dangerously beautiful flames. Thoughts of Maedhros once again arose, her mind’s eye seeing his length of deep red hair and the expressive green eyes that burned with something she could only hope for when they met with hers.

Realizing that she was indeed truly tired, Kalin wrapped a covering around her loosely and settled atop the furs on the side closest to the fire. Her eyes steadily shut and her face eased into a pleasant expression as sleep caught up with her exhausted body. It was not very long after that Maglor knocked quietly upon her door and opened it with her name on his lips. A smile then touched those lips when he caught sight of her and he leaned briefly upon the doorframe to watch the maiden now peacefully resting.

In the back of his mind there still resided a small doubt that she might not like this harsh environment, these people that could be strange and unknown; but the hope and knowledge of her welcome temper and acclimating attitude won through and, upon seeing so gentle an echo of a smile pass over her unconscious features, he couldn’t be more confident of her one day considering Himring to be her home.

 

Ten days reinforced Maglor’s views exceptionally upon the subject of Mîrluiniel’s proper acclimation to the fort. Especially by her being introduced to, and grown in intimacy with, Remethiel and her husband Mornefindon along with their two young daughters, Dessuithiel, and Pilindiel. Often she would accompany the elder elleth during the day and assist with her chores and duties around the stronghold, including the teaching and care of her children.

“ _Kalin_ , tell us bout you horsey gain!”

“Yes, _please_!” Dessui, the elder of the two, and Pili begged her as they sat beneath an awning outside.

Smiling, she obliged the two horse-loving girls and told them of her white steed Randiriel for, what seemed now close to, the fiftieth time. “My Randiriel was skittish at even a locust, but a snort from her nostrils scared off anyone who dared to threaten me. She pawed the ground restlessly when I readied her for riding because she was so ready to run. She knew she was fast and loved to race the wind in a storm, devouring every distance easily…” As Kalin continued, she gained another listener who kept hidden by his own horse, saddled and waiting with his master a short ways behind the elleth.

Caranthir stood watching with great interest behind a set of piercing green eyes; close in resemblance to that elder brother’s who was thought of so often by the object of his current focus. He listened attentively to the love with which she described such a horse as could, and obviously did, fill the words of many a great tale. Discerning with ears born of a high elf, her voice and accent spoke to him of her origin, betraying her homeland to be with those of the Sindar.

“Lord Caranthir!” His attention was drawn by a young elfling at the woman’s feet, and, though he looked to her as she inquired of him, grew aggravated that he must be interrupted from his observations. “Could Kalin’s mare best _your_ horse in a race, do you think?”

He smirked as Kalin also turned to him, interested in his reply. “Though I’ve had an account of her horse well enough, I know nothing of how my lady Kalin _rides_ her mount. It takes a supremely competitive person to best my Eithel and I together.” He received an arched brow as he walked his stallion up to them and smiled almost wickedly down at her. Mîrluiniel looked away, down to the child in her lap, and said nothing, yearning to have the courage to tell him how great a rider she truly _was_ , yet forbade herself from becoming so again now because of her handicap. “I understand your own good steed is no longer, my lady, but we have several well-bred horses in the stables for you to use. We can see _then_ how truly fast a rider you are.” The last was said with a thinly veiled challenge.

Reluctantly, she declined with explanation. “I thank you my lord, but no. It… I have not ridden on my own since the loss of my arm… I think I am not quite ready to climb on again.”

This he had not expected. “A _pity_ , my lady. From seeing you on my brother’s mount I know you to look very well upon the creature.” He paused as if contemplating, and then smiled subtly before he bid them good day, mounting his own stallion and then adding. “Perhaps we can persuade you otherwise while you are yet here.” He turned away with a bow to her and then galloped quickly away.

Pili in her arms looked up to her questioningly. “Kalin, why you not ride? Lor’Maedhros rides and _he_ has no both hands, just like you.”

“Yes, maybe he can teach you how he does it, Kalin! I think you will be great at it again.” Dessui added encouragingly after her sister.

Laughing delightedly at their energy to get her riding, Mîrluiniel picked up the youngest of them as she stood and began walking them back to their home. “Thank you both, but lord Maedhros would not want to teach me. I’m sure he will be very busy when he returns.”

Dessui shook her head, reaching to take hold of her stunted arm as carelessly as if she were holding her naneth’s hand. “Lord Maedhros isn’t _that_ busy. Before he left for Himlad the last time, he was on the walls a lot looking out for long times. Or he’d watch the older boys train with practice swords. He helped them a lot. We watched, _too_ , didn’t we, Pili?”

Tired now, Pilindiel nodded gently to her sister against Kalin’s shoulder. “His horsey’s pretty.” Became her sleepy contribution. With a kiss to the little one’s brow, Kalin could not help but agree.

Mornefindon accepted his children gladly and ushered them through his smith-shop and into the house. “Thank you, again, my lady. Were they well-behaved for you?” Assuring him that they were, Kalin bid them good eve and pulled her wrap closer around her before walking through the trampled snow and toward the stables. Thankful for its roof and the warmth of several horses, she entered and retraced the steps she’d taken every day to visit Dûri. Mîrluiniel came to her familiar stall and smiled as her arms folded atop the closed half-gate.

Maglor was bent over scraping the muck and slough out from his mare’s hind hooves, but straightened with a welcome smile as he heard her approach. Kalin gently stroked Dûri’s long nose and ruffled the coarse hair of a pitch-black forelock as Maglor came to prop his forearms in the opposite direction at her side. “Good evening, Mîrluiniel. Are you well?” He asked, judging correctly that she was not all of her cheerful self.

She sighed with a tender smile, letting Dûri’s velvety lips nibble at cold fingers. “I am well. I’ve just been thinking of Randiriel and how it felt to be on her back… That seems so very long ago, now.”

He thought on this. “In a way it _is_ long ago.” He studied her a moment as she gazed at his horse, then continued. “But with time comes the new out of the old.” He caught her eye with meaning. “There _is_ starting again, Mîrluiniel. Always, there is starting again.” Her soft smile was soon blown away with a frigid winter draft. Wearing nothing but his tunic and belts himself, Maglor took his heavier coat from a hook just outside the stall and situated it over her wrap.

“Thank you.” Her sweet voice was quiet, almost subdued, and his hated for it to be so.

“Have you always been so cold-natured? Or are we just ill-supplying you with warmth?”

At last, he heard her soft laugh and she tugged at his rolled up sleeve teasingly. “I might as well be the normal one who _feels_ a chill, where I’m sure you haven’t felt one frost even wearing only _this_ in the dead of winter!” Her hand lingered on his exposed arm. “Even now you’re full warm… how is this?”

She looked up at him with the honest inquiry and he acknowledged. “There _are_ differences, aside from looks and appearances, between our two peoples. I wish many of them were not so prominent… such as Noldorin pride…”

She stopped him there. “I can assure you, pride is not upon one side only.” Kalin caught herself before too much revealed itself on such a fragile subject.

Once more, though he had caught her on it, Maglor allowed the chance to go by unexplored. “I’ve received word from Maedhros that he will be remaining on his March through the change of duty for our elves. He may not return until the spring festival.” The change of subject, he admitted, was abrupt, and the news with which it conveyed clearly affected Mîrluiniel.

She stared at the dappled bay mare for some moments, as if seeking consolation, before responding at length. “He will stay away for so long? He makes me feel as if I’ve wronged him by coming here, Maglor.”

“ _No_. Never say that. I know not what to say except that he will not keep away forever, Mîrluiniel. I know my brother’s feelings, and if he loved you _less_ , he would be here with you. That is how he works, though _I_ know it is futile for him to try and deprive himself of you.” Her countenance held hope once more at his words and Maglor pressed her hand before opening the stall gate and escorting her to a fire within the fort where she could gather still more comfort.

 

Maglor allowed her to keep the letter containing Maedhros’ own script; though little knowing that the elleth would stay most of the night awake by a dying fire to read it again and again, hoping that some part of it could lend her courage and the assurance of his affections.

 

_Kano,_

 

The next rotation of men should be ready to leave Himring for their shift on the watches by the new moon. When I arrived, it was just preceding a weeklong whiteout and nothing could be done for as much time.

There have been numerous mutilated deer and other game scattered to the east and we doubt an increase of rabid creatures so much as we suspect the ill will of our Enemy is at work.

I will be remaining to guard and keep a close watch on the movement of yrch for some time longer, perhaps returning closer to festival. My purpose, as always, is to defend my people and bring our foes the pain that they deserve.

Keep safe what is yours and what is mine.

 

-M

 

Mîrluiniel admired his slanted scrawl and could not help but to read and reread his last line. Could it be that he would consider her to be his? This was her only consolation, for the foreboding of their enemy’s drawing near made her weak for his safety. “Please think of your protection among that of your people’s, Maedhros.” Kalin whispered to the splinter of dawn that peeked through the window, closing her eyes at last to a fitful sleep.

 

‘Maedhros! Maedhros, please!’

With a gasp, Maedhros jerked from his slumber to Kalin’s distressed cry, still ringing in his ears and tightening his chest. Regaining his bearings and breath, the Noldo looked over his smoldering log to see the glow of his men’s fires and their sleeping silhouettes, graciously unaffected by his sudden awakening. It was the vision again. It had come to him, waking and unconscious, above seven times since leaving Himlad and rejoining the March. They moved him more deeply than anything he’d ever felt, even in her presence.

Their relationship in the dreams was strong, moreso than he dared to think of happening in reality between them. “Yet oh, how I desire such a bond.” Maedhros murmured to himself and passed a hand over his snow-clouded eyes. But even as he thought it, every reason why he was forbidden to ever seek such a thing glared in his mind’s eye and sought to blind him to such warm feelings. Aside from the curse of his father’s oath-- such a thing that would surely taint his love for her with the adulterous lust for the Silmarilli-- her Sindarin blood binding with his Noldorin would undoubtedly estrange every tie she had to family and people, possibly placing her under the curse of the Noldor to never return to Aman and therefore preventing Kalin from ever seeing Valinor.

If any children were to come of their union, they would be born with too many enemies, and grow up with the knowledge of their father’s acts of murder. Not only would Kalin be subject to the Oath, but they, also, would be affected by its sins, possibly never escaping the shackles chained to the ownership of the Silmarils.

Hunching over his flame’s dismal warmth, more to shield it from sleeting rain than to gain anything from its light, Maedhros thought blackly of his circumstances. He could never allow himself to be loved. Till his death, he must deny this of himself, for he knew like no other could ever know, that this curse, the oath of his father would kill him in the end. He was unsure as to how it would take place, but enough had been felt on his long days upon that cliff-side to know that his death would come in some other manner, not upon Thangorodrim.

His death. ‘How morbid a life one leads when one is certain of their demise.’ His thoughts led him down that dark path until a break appeared in the canopy of his mind and light, at last, shone directly upon him. “Mortal men are doomed to die… yet they live and love with the flame of passion that elves hold out for centuries.” He sat up straighter and held tenderly the portrait of Kalin his thoughts had painted for him. ‘Why cannot I, one of Illúvatar’s First Born, love during my limited time, when even a mere mortal is granted to do so?’

He pondered hopefully before consideration for Kalin came into play. If she could even remotely grow to love him, it would be no less than reckless to abandon her to solitude perhaps for eternity after his death. “I am softening.” Maedhros muttered, shaking himself. “I cannot give her my love and still keep her safe. She deserves more, more than I can give her. She would never be happy.”

‘Maitimo…’ His mother’s voice drew him into a lighter mindset and her words from not long ago came to him again. ‘Not every precious thing need be made of stone, my son…’ Could he possibly bend and break the oath enough to cherish Kalin above any Silmaril? Celegorm had told him that nothing was certain.

Could it be that the oath was not the only thing to dictate his life? “It cannot be as simple as that. Since the day I swore it, the oath has prevented me every meaningful form of happiness… and this is so great a form of happiness… It cannot be so simple.” He concluded despondently, folding his arms against the cold. The wind seemed to cause him more pain that night than it had in a long time.


	9. When Love’s Shining in Your Eyes

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 9** /?

 **Chapter Summary:** Kalin had truly cared for him from the beginning. And now he was slowly returning it.

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. ಠ_ಠ

 

 “Kalin, I think you’ve won if there were a competition for bringing in the most berries! Wherever did you find so many this early in the year?” Calanon’s sister, Eäryendë, asked her in pleasant surprise as she sampled a ripe blueberry from the basket.

Kalin laughed at her expression while tasting a plump berry herself, reasoning. “I have just been going farther, I suppose. It seemed natural to do so. But I know there are many more, I only had no room left to gather them. I’ll be back with a basket-full of first fruits by nightfall, I promise.”

Eäryendë swallowed quickly and looked dumbfounded upon her friend. “Nightfall? Kalin, the celebration begins before the sun’s wane, you’ll miss the best of the dances! No, we have plenty of fruit, I assure you, and there is no need for you to go out again.”

Bending to reach beneath the kitchen counter, Kalin heedlessly took out another leather-strapped basket and put it over her shoulder. “My friend, I know how much an assembled group of elves eats, especially the young ones. I will be back before nightfall, as I’ve said. Don’t worry.” Before any further rebuttal could be made, she was out in the courtyard on her way.

Remethiel came up to her friend in the kitchen and also took a berry to taste, advising Eäryendë as they watched the fair elleth make her way to the gates. “Kalin is one that needs a bit of meditation for herself. She’ll be all right without a few dances, don’t you fret.” With a sigh, the she-elf nodded and went to aid in the festival preparations for the evening.

 

Mîrluiniel sang gently to herself and the birds above her, almost summoning the last of the berries to be piled into her brimming basket. Her true intention for going out once more had been to keep from idleness before both the celebration and Maedhros’ return. Would he acknowledge her? Comment again upon her dancing? What if he chose to refrain from dancing all night? Her thoughts raced over every scenario she could conjure; yet she could hardly bring herself to hope for more than his safety upon returning to Himring.

With no clouds and only the trees to hinder the sunset’s bright goodbye, Kalin complimented Laurelin’s beautiful rays and bid her farewell as her lover, Telperion, shed his light on the elleth’s path home. Following her song, a young stag came into her way and eyed the elleth curiously, coming closer until he could smell the gathering of fruit in her outstretched palm. It took but a moment, however, before the young creature was alerted to a sound more startling and grew tense, an instant later fleeing from her and the foreboding noise. Frowning slightly at the skittish beast, Kalin turned then to hear with her own ears the beat of many hooves against the earth, growing in intensity as they neared her.

Swiftly Mîrluiniel got off the trail and out of sight of the elven procession galloping the last few miles to Himring’s Hill. Their argent armor glinted and shone with the moon’s illumination, each elf’s panoply glowing heroically as he rode. In front she barely caught the auburn strands of her lord fly by, leading his rout home. As they sped onwards, and well after they had passed, Kalin could hardly keep her heart from beating as fast as their horses’ feet, nor the fire flies from floating in her belly at her excitement.

Taking her full basket, she attempted piteously to calm herself and continued, without song, onto the fort and the festivities there.

 

Maedhros galloped into the keep to the happy shouts and cheers of his people surrounding his men. He was in better spirits than in many a year for what his conscience had finally accepted over the weeks. Dismounting Rúnyadal without pain enough to grimace at, he greeted his brother with reasonable good-humor. “Let them have their dancing, Maglor, I will join everyone after something of a bath. Tell me only where I should take it, my brother.”

“Where else but your own chambers, Maedhros? The water has already been drawn for you.”

He looked at the younger in confusion. “You are mistaken, those are Kalin’s chambers now. Lead me someplace else.”

The brunette sibling shook his head and explained, “No, she has already moved her things to another room and prepared yours for you once again. I was in your opinion that you had meant them to be her chambers permanently, but she insisted.” Understanding, but a little let down by this, Maedhros quickly gave off Rúnya’s reins and went to clean himself for the feasting.

Maglor weaved through the soldiers returned and their families, at last finding Remethiel. He took her arm and asked in an urgent tone beneath the din of revelry. “Where is Kalin? She should have been here long ago.”

Quickly looking around, the woman gave him her only answer. “I’m sorry, my lord, I’ve not seen her, either. She told us she would return by nightfall…”

“I’ll grant a half hour more, then I’m going after her.” He spoke hastily and went to search further through the keep for the elleth. Worry clouded his expression and those he passed were uncertain as to why their lord was so out of spirits on such a night for singing and dancing. Anywhere he might find her with an occupation, he looked, knowing her nature and willingness to blend in more than be seen by all. At length he came to the kitchens. An hour had passed and by now he was praying that her dying figure would not be found outside the fortress walls.

He entered the house-like building and almost cried out when he saw her pouring a basket of fruit into serving bowls. She looked up and smiled until he ran to her and crushed her in his arms, causing the basket to drop and scatter berries across the floor. “Mîrluiniel…” He sighed against her hair and continued to hold her against him.

“Maglor, you’re ruining the fruit…”

He pulled away and held her by the arms to look at her. “I don’t care about the berries! I thought… I didn’t know what had happened to you. Please never go out alone like that again. Please.” He held her gaze until she understood and nodded, then pulled her to him again in relief.

The elleth wrapped her arms around him as well and sighed. “I am sorry to have worried you so, Maglor.” She apologized as his hand cradled her snow-blonde head against his shoulder.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you again. You must understand my concern.” Once more, he looked at her and they smiled. But a certain one did not smile, and the flame of his hair was reflected in the heat of vivid green eyes as he watched his brother bestowing affection upon this maiden.

Maedhros had seen Kalin entering the kitchens from afar and gone to ask of her a dance, when such a sight as his brother and this elleth was brought before him. How could his own brother do such a thing? And so cowardly, choosing while he was away on the March to be courting her without his knowledge.

The eldest Fëanorian stormed away to seclusion between the stables and the wall of his keep to fume. As he paced, he heard Maglor ask someone nearby where his brother had gone and was informed correctly. Just as the younger turned the corner, he was met with Maedhros’ stone-strong fist in his face, instantly receiving a cut and swollen lip.

Incredulously, he looked at the elder son and shouted with a hand on the bleeding tissue. “What is wrong with you? Why…” He was silenced with a lunge from Maedhros, shoving him up against the rock wall of the stronghold.

Two lambent green eyes thirled him accusingly. “You think I am too slow and blind to descry your attentions to her? I am not the dotard you mistake me to be.” His voice was low and powerfully threatening as his vambrace came close to choking his kin on the stone wall.

Maglor struggled fruitlessly and managed to speak. “Maedhros, please… I have done nothing more than what you undoubtedly saw just now. I have done nothing to take her from you, on my honor!”

Suddenly, the eldest let him free and paced away, spinning back on him. “What do you mean?”

Coughing with a hand on his throat, Maglor sought to explain. “It is true, I have feelings for her… one cannot escape it. But her heart is inexorably yours.”

This last statement astonished Maedhros momentarily and he questioned in shock as the other elf slowly rose to his feet. “What? … How can you know this, if it is even the truth?”

“She has never said it out right, but I see her regard for you every day, even in your absence. I am no more than her friend, Maedhros. When I gave her the letter you sent me this winter, she stayed that entire night up poring over your words. I am certain of her choice of affections, and I respect it.” They were both silent for some moments before Maglor felt the need to further clarify. “When you saw us in the kitchen, she had just come from gathering early fruits outside the walls. Her promise had been to return much earlier. I was ready to ride out and search for her when I found her in there. My embrace was from relief, nothing more.” He seemed to gain his breath at last. “In sooth, I knew you would have torn me apart if I let anything happen to her.”

Maedhros did not look up as his brother spoke and waited a little longer afterward to sort out his thoughts before speaking himself. “I love her.” The siblings looked at one another, then, Maedhros with satisfaction and the zeal of realization, Maglor with the bittersweet happiness for a brother who rarely granted himself anything. “I love Kalin, and I don’t know what shall come of it.”

The warrior’s eyes seemed to search his brother’s for answers, but Maglor only smiled. “I pray only good things, my brother. Go to her now, and enjoy your festival.” Before he left, the eldest took his brother’s arm and grasped it in good will, once more strengthening their bond.

 

Maedhros blended with his people and soon found the maiden he was searching for in the arms of one of his soldiers, dancing in time with the music and gracefully out-stepping him with ease. Her curls were free from restraint, glowing in the light of the moon and bonfires as another dance found her twirling from elf to elf. A dress of cream linens and brown leather belts fit perfectly about her waist and came sleeveless, displaying without inhibition the scars of her attack all along her left arm. Yet even with such blemishes— as some would call them— he could find no elleth lovelier.

Soon the Noldo saw her begin to tire and made his way to where two of his men attempted to bring her onto the dance floor once more, coming close to making her relent between the two of them. Maedhros came between and spoke with his authoritative tone. “That’s enough, lads. Let the lady have her rest.” Their eyes met for the first time in months and he held out his hand, which she took gladly, allowing herself to be led away to a refreshment table.

He gave her a glass of wine, seeing her flushed, and took some stronger miruvor for himself as they stood side by side, observing the others enjoying themselves. “I hope you will not cease your dancing for tonight, the music shall not end until dawn and I should like to see you perform again. There is nothing quite like it.”

She smiled with a quiet thanks before asking of him inquisitively. “I am curious to know if you think I’ve found a partner whom I cannot outshine, my lord. Is there an edhel here who can do it?”

He pretended to survey the elves around him and informed her with a smirk. “I think not. And with the partners I’ve seen you take thus far, I know not. I would admit, to my delight, I believe it impossible to find one to match you in ability and litheness to music.”

She laughed at this compliment and looked toward him after setting aside her glass. “What of you, my lord?”

He smiled and set down his drink, also. “Now, you would most certainly outshine me, my lady, for I have not danced in many decades.”

Mîrluiniel glanced to the musicians who had just begun a gentle, easier-paced, tune. “Nothing a slow song cannot remedy, I’m sure.”

With a grin to her method, he accepted, though on his terms. “Only do not pain me by displaying my novice to everyone this moment. Let us dance here first, so that in the darkness only few may see my inability.” Taking her hand through his arm, Maedhros led her behind the rows of tables and farther from the torches so that they would draw less attention. Turning her smoothly to face him, he bowed, as one would in a much grander setting, and likewise she curtsied elegantly to match him. It was perfect that her right hand fit into his left, and with his arm he pulled her close against him in a secure dance structure.

His placement with her signaled for a regal dance her atar had taught her long ago for one of the King’s feasts. Only significant events called for such a dance because of the intricacy of steps. Kalin recalled that the physical immediacy of partners depended on the devotion of the elves involved, increasingly closer proximity as one held more regard for the other.

Maedhros held her very close. “You know this dance?” He asked softly of her, and it was then she realized that only a lady of the court, or royalty, would know such a dance or so readily recognize its cues.

Mîrluiniel had immediately stepped into place with him. ‘I am a member of my uncle’s court, but should I reveal such a telling part of my identity? He knows it because he is a Noldorin prince, at one time he might have been High King!’ And here he was, dancing with her in his fortress on the eve of spring. She would not lie. She could not lie to him. “Yes, my lord, I do.” She did not see, but instead felt, his approving smile as he led her through the beginning steps, letting their music come to time. Kalin was already certain he had cruelly belied his skill, but was ignorant as to how truly proficient and strong he was in such a dance. ‘His guidance makes it effortless, he moves so well that his partner works very little.’ Her thoughts praised him and she enjoyed his arms around her, leading her, as the masculine role dictated.

In the dark Mîrluiniel could see little of his specific raiment aside from a deeply colored doublet and breeches. His vambraces shone in their mithril designs and she caught the glint of firelight reflecting off his leather boots. When Maedhros’ intense eyes met hers, she could always discern their color and expression from the light of the Trees within that gaze. Her bare arm resting delicately upon his shoulder allowed her to feel the long straight hair that only just stained red in the dismal glow. His strong jaw clenched during the more complicated sequences, but his posture and form remained steadfast, even when it commanded him to grasp her more tightly, he did not withdraw.

A flourish of his partner pressed her back against his chest, completing the dance, and indicated for him to bow in gratitude to his partner with her hand still in his. The serene smile he wore became him, and she knew full well that she had just experienced a very exclusive side of his character. He trusted her. “Now be honest, how terrible was I?” The Noldo prince asked of her, partly in play, and she put her arm through his, slowly leading him back to where the others danced.

“It’s been how many decades?”

He chuckled, inclining his head. “More than I care to recall.”

Kalin pressed his arm receptively. “One would never have guessed that. Indeed, you remembered well all the steps including mine when I forgot which way to turn. I’ve never had a better partner for the dance, I can promise it to you.” She succeeded in making him laugh, but despite its being a different effect than she had hoped, the sound of it delighted her.

“Now, one thing I will not accept is that sort of jest. Tell me really, you hated it.”

“No! I refuse to lie to you. I challenge you never to hear me do so.” He looked at her then, the laughter in his face fading away; but as he sought the truth of such words, it became a deeply pleased expression. Her eyes remained clear, in color and meaning, and he read her by them.

“Would my lord chance to display his novice with me for a second dance?” The elleth’s soft request was impossible to refuse as he gazed into those eyes.

“But this is to be our first dance, you must remember, my lady. Before the eyes of so many, it must be.” With a wink he corrected her and then spun her about as the music began and the couples arranged themselves.

To be sure, the eyes of many were upon them as they watched their lord of Himring-- whom many had never seen dance in their waking hours-- bring the vibrant young maiden out to twirl and hold in the patterns of song. They were something to behold, dark and light, as they moved together, around each other and between couples. Theirs was the dance, and those in such company paled in comparison as if echoes of a true sound.

It was with reluctance that Maedhros allowed other elves to stand up with her, and he watched her closely, grinning every time her eyes searched for his during dances where she was free to do so. He danced with her twice more before the sun came close to making its appearance, and knew it would be impossible to duplicate the feelings that arose in him when she held on to his frame or laid her cheek against his shoulder as a dance called for. Each moment with her was like the sun warming his cold figure. It was right.

From a distance, he saw Kalin holding young Pili who slept against her shoulder while she spoke with Remethiel, her oldest daughter standing sleepily beside them. He approached and heard their conversation. “Remethiel, you and Mornefindon stay and enjoy the feast! I will take the children and put them to bed.”

“I just don’t feel right keeping you from the festival, Kalin, you are having such a good time and it isn’t fair…”

It was then that Maedhros came up to them, pulling little Dessui into his arms before she fell asleep standing up. “Take your husband and dance, Remethiel. Kalin and I will care for the little ones.” He told the woman and, bowing, she thanked them, leaving with a parting kiss for both her children. Dessuithiel wrapped her arms around his neck as they walked from the celebration to their home, giving a little sigh before her tired eyes gave out. “Did you enjoy the festival, Kalin?” His deep Noldorin voice inquired of the elleth at his side.

Rubbing Pilindiel’s back soothingly, she smiled and whispered her reply. “I did, very much. And you?”

“I think Himring has not held a merrier one since the fortress was built.” Once they entered the house and went into the girls’ room Kalin laid her burden down carefully and brushed her lips over the toddler’s brow before moving so Maedhros could lay his dozing child alongside her sister.

Happily, Mîrluiniel could not help but notice how natural the elfling had looked in his arms, nor how easily he had taken her up in the first place. Removing a garland from Dessui’s head and pulling a blanket over them both, Kalin then clarified her question. “But did you enjoy the festival, Maedhros?”

A few curls had fallen over her eyes from bending over and he put them from her face before she could reach to do it herself, his fingers lingering in her soft white hair. “I did…” He looked at her admiringly. “Very much.” His fingers threaded through the length of her curls and stopped when they touched the flesh of her shoulder, scarred by that horrific day now far gone. “Must we remain with the children?” Maedhros’ question was whispered and asked with eyes averted to the sleeping young ones behind her.

She shook her head. “They should sleep for a long time, yet.”

He nodded and returned his eyes to her inquisitive ones. “May I show you something? It’s not far from Himring, but we’ll need to leave soon if we are to see it.” Kalin hesitated little longer than a moment before saying yes and allowing her lord to lead her-- unseen by the merry-making couples who crowded around the fire-- to the stables. Rúnya roused easily, used to obeying the call of his master at any moment, and was pleased to see the elleth who accompanied him. A bridle was quickly fitted and, led out of the stall, Maedhros carefully lifted Kalin to sit atop his withers, mounting himself behind her without issue.

Again she was reminded of how dearly she loved this animal, and the wonderful security of being between its power and the strength of his owner. They galloped out and east of the fortress, a place she had never been or ventured as far as she had in the other directions. Firs and pines flew by them as timid gleams of the rising sun began to peek through their narrow trunks. “Nearly there…” Maedhros murmured agin her ear as their breathing deepened to match the stallion’s beneath them. It grew increasingly uphill as the last mile became rocky and steep, a ridge lined with tall trees coming into view, their silhouettes like bastions looming over them.

Mounting the crest at last, Rúnyadal pranced in place at being stopped but stilled at a word from his master, allowing his passengers to safely dismount. Maedhros whispered something to the great horse in Quenyan before he took the bridle off and let him trot away along the ridge and down.

Kalin could not help but ask as the elf returned to where she stood. “Where is he going?”

The Noldo smiled. “You will see. Come, I have been here many times, there is a place where we can sit, this way.” He took her by the hand through the enormous trees and at length to a formation of boulders, which he skillfully led her up, until a good flat one offered them both a seat. “Here, it is almost time.” He settled down beside her, one knee propped up to rest his right arm on. Subtly, he watched as she patiently waited for whatever he had brought her for, to happen, knees drawn up to her chest and her bare feet peeking out where the linen dress didn’t reach.

The stars of winter’s last night were all but vanished and the elves’ eyes, too strong to really be affected by its radiance, met the eastern sun in all its glory as it rose with pride to awaken the spring. Already it was mesmerizing to her, and she was about to say as much when Maedhros leaned close to her and pointed out something else below the horizon, whispering to her as if it would all vanish if he spoke any louder. “They’re coming… See, Rúnya is out to meet them.” Closely, she studied where he directed her attention until keen eyes sought and found Rúnyadal’s majestic galloping figure making his way east where at last she descried more horses, a large herd, running just as swiftly toward him. They circled each other with whinnies and neighs, bringing Kalin almost to tears by the sheer delight that such a scene afforded.

With pleasure, Maedhros diligently observed her emotions, gaining more than he had hoped for in her reaction. He knew, already, she was a deeply feeling elf, and it was only another quality that brought him to love her all the more.

Before long she turned and looked at him, her beautiful eyes shining with happiness, and her hand moved to rest atop his on the stone beneath them. “Thank you.” Her voice was soft to match the moment.

For a breath-taking instant he could only gaze at her lovely face and the sun-lit curls that blew in the wind. But then his surprise grew shocked to feel her gentle hand press his and he looked down between them at the sight, his fingers, almost of their own accord, rising up to lace between hers and hesitantly press in response. ‘Her skin is so soft.’ He thought, enthralled that so quickly she was showing him such affection. ‘But this is not the first time she has done such a thing.’ He realized, and remembered all the times she had healed his wounds in Himlad, soothing his hurt in more ways than simple physical ease. Kalin had truly cared for him from the beginning. And now he was slowly returning it.

After some moments more of watching the group of horses below them, she inquired. “Was Rúnya a part of this herd?”

He followed her eyes down to his steed and smiled. “He still is. We get all our horses from this herd, and Rúnyadal remains a leading stud among them. Many of the foals and colts you see are sired from his stock, there are several this year.”

Her fingers moved a little and threaded with his in her excitement. “Can we go and see them?”

He tilted his head in thought, but at length decided against it, looking to her with an encouraging grin. “Let them be with their family a little longer, yet. I promise to take you with me when I come to document them.” She smiled in response and nodded, turning away to look again with longing at the herd grazing in the early light. He knew that longing. He had experienced it enough after his rescue to recognize it easily. “Perhaps by then we can look for you your own horse. You’ll have the best to choose from, I assure you…”

“Oh! That is more generous than I could ever hope, but…”

He held her hand more securely and stopped her. “There is no rush. I am certain whichever one we choose will need maturing, and that leaves us plenty of time.”

Tentatively, she pressed. “Time for what?”

“I see your passion for horses, and relate to it with my own love for the creatures. I also know of, and perfectly understand, your inhibitions to ride again. I mean to teach you to do so once more, Kalin.” She sat speechless and couldn’t bring herself to make a sound before he continued, more gently this time. “I believe that waiting any longer to begin will only be to your detriment. However, I shall not force you to do this.” He was patient for her answer and finally received it, with some mustered courage on her part, he was sure.

“If you’ll teach me, if you’ll help me in any way, then yes. Yes, I want to learn again.”

He grinned, proud of her for this accomplishment, for it was a great one. “You’re ready, I’m sure of it.” His hand left hers reluctantly but moved it only to brush away the golden-white hair that blocked her eyes from view. Innocently, Kalin turned away from his intense gaze, concerned that she might have been too forward thus far. Yet Maedhros paid no heed to her measure of forwardness in that moment, nor his, as his only desire was to look at her as unabashedly as he chose.

 

They talked until late morning upon the ridge before Maedhros decided they should not be gone much longer and stood, giving her his hand so that she might do the same. While she awaited him, his agile body took him up to the highest boulder and, spying Rúnyadal among the complacent herd, let out a powerfully shrill whistle, which alerted the stallion to return.

“How often do you let him blend with the herd?” Kalin asked him as he jumped down from the formation and assisted her back to the ground with him.

“As often as I can. Now that I am here again, at Himring, I will leave him for longer periods while I train other young horses.” He bent down to pick up the bridle from where he left it and handed it to her as the great steed trotted up to them through the trees. “You remember this, I am sure?  Put it on Rúnya for me?”

She took it from him and momentarily admired the beautifully detailed leatherwork within her fingers. “My lesson begins now?” He inclined his head with a comely smirk that brought light to his eyes. Turning to Rúnyadal as he stood before them, Kalin spoke in a familiar way to the tall animal that she had missed along with the master who’d taken him. Stepping before him, the elleth stopped when she couldn’t figure out how to go about fitting it over his head.

Noticing the slight issue, Maedhros stepped forward and changed the position of the bridle in her grasp, explaining as he did so. “It will be opposite for you than it is for me, but you must use your arm to lift the crown of the bridle and utilize your fingers to place the bit within his mouth properly. See, it doesn’t take much to situate it around his ears, no dexterity in any case.” Guided correctly, and with only a little difficulty at the ears, she succeeded and pulled the reins around his neck, ready to mount. Grinning, she looked to Maedhros for approval and he nodded, giving her praise enough before continuing with his ‘lesson.’ “Good. Now can you mount bareback?”

Kalin measured the height of the stallion’s back with her eyes and then looked around the immediate area for something to step onto, but found none. Realizing she was on the wrong side, Kalin stepped around the front of the horse and positioned herself to Rúnya’s right. Reins and mane in her fist, she jumped and tried to swing her left leg over in vain, even attempting a second and third time, which seemed only to prove her lack of success. Maedhros stood with arms crossed in observance, waiting until she had tried completely before volunteering any assistance. He watched in amusement as she did finally lead Rúnya over to the boulders they had climbed down only a moment ago. Stepping first onto the lower of these, it was easy to simply sit down upon his back. With a grin of satisfaction, Kalin led the steed with her feet back over to Maedhros.

He laughed good-humoredly and walked up to lay a hand on his animal’s neck. “What do you do if there are no such boulders to climb upon?” Kalin could find no answer, and, before she knew it, he had grabbed her ankle and slung it over the other side, effectively dismounting her with no fall and in her place he jumped upon Rúnyadal, trotting a little ways off to escape her reproach. Again he laughed once a safe distance away and began walking back toward her annoyed, yet smiling, expression. “Granted, I am taller, but it really makes little difference. How did I get on?”

She crossed her arms as he rode up beside her. “You have more arm strength than I do.” The elleth answered simply, a little put out at having so easily been un-horsed.

“Yes, but I also used my arms differently. You pulled, I pushed.”

She thought about the concept and then understood what he meant by it. “You used his back like a platform, then?”

Her quick comprehension pleased him and he dismounted at her side to allow her one more try. As she jumped, he directed her. “Lay your chest upon him and swing your leg over with the momentum.” Kalin did so and, scooting up higher to his withers, she laughed with success. “Well done.” He commended and then leapt to Rúnya’s back behind her. “Do you remember the path home?”

Her beautiful laugh met his ears once more and she answered truthfully. “You took no path at all! And even with the daylight, I should hardly recognize it better.”

The prince smiled when she turned to look at him and found their faces uncommonly close. “Ride west and I shall tell you if we need turn.” His confidence rubbed off on Mîrluiniel and she turned forward again to direct Rúnyadal on. Maedhros kept his hand on her waist, resting on one of her leather belts, and moved it only to push away interfering branches and boughs that tangled in their way.

“I don’t recall galloping through all these, earlier.” She remarked as he leaned against her, making sure they missed a low-hanging limb.

“That’s because we didn’t.” He replied plainly and evoked her laughter.

“Then you take the reins. I haven’t a clue where we’re going, probably to a bog so you might jest at my horrid smell.”

He gathered the reins from her and shifted a little so that he had more control of the stallion. “Now why would I lead you to a bog? For then I would smell just as badly!” She giggled all the while as he spoke and he enjoyed the exposure to such fresh gaiety. “No, I see no reason to take you to the bog today.” At his conclusion he chuckled also and led his horse through an unobtrusive deer path so that twigs and leaves no longer hindered them.

Kalin sat quietly before him and inquired at length as she studied little deer tracks and paw prints leading to and fro on wandering trails. “Do you know every step of these lands? You find your way so easily…”

He shrugged just enough for her to feel and answered humbly. “No, my lady, not every step. But many miles I know by heart through these oaks and pines. Perhaps soon you will know them better than I, but I beg you not to go alone into the east. Though surely beautiful, it holds many hiding places where enemies often sleep and spy. The west I trust more for your safety.” He saw her nod, but received no other reply to such requests, and in his heart he prayed that she would never wander these lands to her harm. If something happened to her and he could have prevented it… he dared not to think.

Mîrluiniel sensed the gravity of his comments and hoped she would never give him cause to worry. There was already more than enough to distress him. Even in that moment, after all the enjoyment they had shared, his posture was tense. Would he always be so? Darker thoughts crept into her awareness. The tortures of Morgoth had doubtless taken more than she could ever return to, or give him. If ever they were to bind, would their fëar ever be wholly united? There was a part of him, she felt, that he might never share with her, never want her exposed to.

Looking down to her arm where once the twin of her other hand would have rested, she flexed he invisible digits and grimaced as she always did. How much more did it pain his entire body from the force and hatred of the Enemy’s thralldom? Her wounds were still mending further, hurting her less with the passing of time. Would his ever fully heal? “Maedhros?” Her voice sounded weaker than its usual cheer. He acknowledged her with a movement and waited for her to continue. “Do your wounds… do they still pain you?” She was anxious that this might test the waters too soon after his greatest breakthrough, but could not remain silent.

Behind her, the muscles of his torso grew rigid and his arms around her tightened so that she laid her hand over his wrist to try and calm him, thankful that it worked to a small degree. “Yes.” He breathed.

Still, her tongue would not be still. “Will they ever heal?”

Again, he waited and at last let out a long breath. “… No. I must endure them… as I endure many things.” She wondered at his ending statement, but finally quelled her painful curiosity and squeezed his wrist gently.

‘Why is she asking that?’ Maedhros thought and a seed of doubt quickly cultivated in his mind, causing him to grow fearful that she would not be able to accept the scars, deep and gruesome as they were, that tainted his body. ‘But she has already seen the marring of my back and chest…’ He sought desperately to encourage himself. ‘And from those she did not blench or cry out.’ Yet, put away for too long, the darker side of his conscience came out at last. ‘She still has not seen half of them, and you know they only grow worse. They will scar her… her pure eyes have never touched anything so grotesque. Only look into her gaze and one is certain of this truth.’ Disturbed now on things much more physical than the principles and decisions he had finally resolved on the night before, Maedhros knew that he still had many obstacles to overcome before his heart could ever completely reside in her care.

They neared his stronghold before long, its lack of noise betraying the sleep-deprived inhabitants. Guards at all the necessary stations nodded to him, many with ellith by their sides, and opened the only entrance to the keep which resided on the western wall. Maedhros trotted through the signs of revelry and partiers from the night before and brought them to where the main dwelling quarters were, housing for his brothers and a few families of his higher officers. “I meant for you to remain in the room that was given to you upon arrival, my lady. It is a gift that I beg you receive, for I am away much too often to utilize such a space. I believe it better suited to your needs.” He clarified the situation with the chamber as he helped her dismount, remaining upon Rúnyadal, himself.

“I thank you greatly for it, my lord.” Reluctantly, she assumed her more formal regard to match his, hoping that the reason for the change was only because of their being within sight of others, not because she had estranged him in anyway. Before he turned to ride away they looked upon one another for a precious minute, a spark in his gaze returning with his admiration of her while Kalin’s remained ever clear and readable so that he might see how much she cared for him. When her eyes did not avert from his, she came near and gently put her hand on his booted ankle, pressing just enough for him to really feel before letting go and backing away to remove into the inner keep.

 

Maedhros thought of Kalin as he cooled down his stallion and finally brought the beast into the stall to rub his muscles down. How perfect the maiden had looked high upon Rúnya’s back, her fair legs exposed just above the knee as her dress hiked up enough to straddle his horse’s girth. Her seat was praise-worthy and posture upon him, even at a walk, was all that he had expected in her horsemanship. Once she was brave enough to accept her own mount, he could not wait to experience simply riding at her side.

Rúnyadal nudged the Noldo with his nose as Maedhros stilled his hand upon the animal’s flank, fully absorbed for a moment in his thoughts. “Forgive me, lad. You cannot blame me when you know the subject of my reflection.” He spoke familiarly to the great steed and continued to massage the strong legs the creature bore.

“What subject might that be, my lord? If I may inquire…” An edhel’s voice came from outside the stall and Maedhros turned to see Calanon propped nonchalantly against the doorframe. “May one humbly guess it’s being the lovely elleth our captain took such pleasure in dancing with, last eve? I must confess, my lord, it was good to see you enjoying your own feast again.” Maedhros looked away and said nothing directly, but his body language communicated that Calanon’s assumptions were indeed correct. “Where is she now?” He pressed, still receiving no eye contact.

“Kalin is no doubt resting still from last night. Don’t think I didn’t notice you and the men asking for her hand at every moment. You exhausted her.” Maedhros reprimanded him with a stern look, yet Calanon did nothing but smile.

“I hope you’ll forgive me if I did, I took her for only two dances. And I didn’t exactly order the men to dance with her. She’s a beautiful young maiden, why should she not be asked for?” The last comment made the captain’s jaw clench in jealously and silently, he willed the elf to choose a different topic. Calanon felt him bristling and began on a point that he knew never depressed the prince, spoken of, or seen. “I noticed you took Dessui to bed last night. Did she go down easy for you?”

Maedhros relaxed now that his wish had been granted and smirked at the though of the little one. “She was fast asleep before I took three steps together. Do your children still play with those two?”

The proud father laughed as he thought of his young ones. “Bellethiel does, I know it, but I think Lainadan believes himself too old to be playing with little girls. Belle told me she’s been teaching them to braid. Apparently they had lady Kalin’s hair full of them a day not long ago. I remember when Lain and Belle took to my hair, I couldn’t get the knots out for a week! Perhaps Kalin had a better time with just girls. She certainly loves our little ones.”

Smiling at the remembrances of Kalin with his nephew, Maedhros remarked. “Yes, she was very good for Celebrimbor. I am certain she will be for all of them…” A sudden vision passed before his eyes at that moment… Weary and breathless, with tears streaming down a pained expression, Kalin laid back against something and was handed a squalling newborn, hairless yet but with eyes of the clearest green... Shaking his head, Maedhros looked to his lone hand and saw it trembling against Rúnyadal’s coat. Quickly, he clenched the fist to quell such a reaction and turned away from Calanon so that he would not perceive his distress. “Calanon, leave me. Go to your children and rest.” Sensing he’d stayed overlong, the elf did as he was asked with a ‘yes, my lord’ and was on his way.

Maedhros passed a hand over his eyes and leaned heavily against the wall, sliding down until he met the floor desolately. ‘Bearing my children will cause so much pain…’ He thought after reviewing the vision in his mind, seeing primarily her weak exhaustion as opposed to the elfling baby with his eyes.

‘Bearing children to any elf brings pain, my son. Some more than others, granted, but that is what makes life all the more precious.’ The sweetness of Nerdanel’s voice sought to comfort him, and he desired to receive it, but was reminded of harsh facts.

“Kalin’s mother died the night she bore her. If ever we were to… she could die.” His voice was tense with the reality of the situation. “If I take her as my wife, she must never become with child.”

‘Maedhros, don’t say such a thing!’ His naneth corrected him across their bond. ‘It cannot be the decision of only one … You must understand that depriving your wife from bearing your children could very well lead her to fade. To never give birth, a life created by you and your mate out of love, it is too severe a punishment to be tried at will. I beg you, my son, never inflict such a hurt intentionally upon her.’

In frustration, her eldest drove his fist against the resistant ground. “Then to keep her safe… I can do nothing but cease my pursuance of Kalin.” He concluded, taking a great fall back from the small steps he had only just made forward.

‘No. Dear one, listen carefully to my advice: Do as your heart guides you, for unlike many, you have a good and caring heart. Your life has been, and always will be, fraught with risk, as those connected to you will be as well. Only let those who are willing to take that risk, do so. When your love is desired in faith, bestow it completely and without restraint.’ Maedhros felt the warmth of hope rise within him at his mother’s words and closed his eyes in exhaustion, and at last, in peace.

 


	10. It May Be Our Words Become Lost

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 10** /?

 **Chapter Summary:** Kalin spoke softly to her warrior. “Your sword be swift.” Clear eyes followed him long after the thick forest concealed his figure and she gazed on with silent prayers for his protection.

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. ಠ_ಠ

 

With a heart lightened by his mother’s counsel, Maedhros resumed his daily routine and chores around the fort as he had always done. When he trained and rode green horses within and without the walls, he often took Kalin with him upon Rúnyadal as she grew more confident in the saddle, assisting and directing her only as needed. Her beauty seemed to grow with the pace of their relationship and each day was completed with a step in the right direction.

Mîrluiniel delighted in observing him spar with the soldiers, sweat pouring off his determined brow as he bested them, both with blade and hand to hand. Quick and strong, he would sometimes challenge up to half a dozen of his elves, weaving between them as if it were a deadly dance. As he finished one of these matches, she came to the roped-off pin and met him with a skin of cool water.

“I see you’ve anticipated me, my lady. I thank you.” He took it from her with a bow of his head and emptied it with but a few draughts.

“A need not difficult to foresee, my lord, you work exceptionally hard on the field. It’s impressive.”

He laughed easily and wiped the drops of sweat from his eyes before nodding to a small group of elflings playing and watching the other soldiers spar. “I appreciate your compliment. Usually our only audience is the children. But that is well, most of them I will teach on this same field ere long.” Kalin followed his gaze and smiled at them as a few waved to her. Maedhros’ focus changed to _her,_ however, as her eyes softened to the little ones attentively pointing out their fathers and relations to each other among the elves. He smiled. “You’ve grown quite attached to them, and they to you, since your arrival here.” The captain remarked and she turned to him with a comely blush.

“I admit I have. And I was happy to hear from Celebrimbor, who sent me a message I received this morning. His printing was only just legible, but it seems Curufin has been teaching him some smith-work. I think he will excel at it.”

Maedhros smirked and shook his head. “I’m certain he will, such talent runs in his blood.”

The comment heightened her curiosity and she chanced to inquire. “Were _you_ very skilled in metal-craft?”

He looked down. “My own skill is not worth mentioning. My brothers are much more worthy of the art, and always have been.” Memories came to him of when his father brought each son to the fire of his smithy. For Curufin, it was coming full-circle through the teaching of _his_ son. With a deep breath and instinctive desire for a new conversation, Maedhros looked up to Kalin and caught her eyeing him carefully.

“I’m sorry if I brought up a tender subject…” She began an apology but he waved her off before she could finish.

“No, do not think of it. I’ve turned a blind eye to too many things in my past. It does not always bring me pain to remember.” He grinned then, encouraging her not to be sorry for something so insignificant. Receiving her radiant smile in return, he bowed his head once more in respect and returned to her the skin, backing away to retrieve his sword once again.

Remethiel approached the maiden as she stood admiring their swordplay and linked her arm within Kalin’s. Leaning close, the elleth murmured to her. “Ah, my dear, he _is_ smitten with you.”

Blushing, Kalin turned her back on the sparring field and beamed brightly for her friend, releasing a little of the excitement that filled her every time Maedhros met her gaze. “I don’t know what’s changed in him, but it’s been for the best. It’s as if he’s finally conquered whatever inhibition there was separating us.”

“Well, there’s certainly nothing in his way _now_.” Remethiel looked past her to where the men fought, glancing to Kalin with a smirk. “He’s looking for you.”

Light in her eyes, the elleth turned her head and caught his emerald eyes looking back at hers, softening when they found their mark. “I really do care for him, Remethiel.” She confided, watching him as he instructed an edhel on proper stance, inadvertently displaying his powerfully muscled back through a sweat-clinging tunic.

The mother of two grinned beside her and nudged in jest. “And of course it’s no sin that he’s more attractive than any _Vala_ , either.” Kalin burst into giggles with a crimson color that crept to the very points of her ears. No doubt Maedhros had heard the sudden cry of laughter, and for that reason Remethiel took the elleth by her arm and led them away before a second wave of embarrassment could be delivered.

 

From the time of the spring festival it had been two months; well now into warmth and growing, but still with the wariness of frost before the fullest bloom. Maedhros was to ride to the Marches on the next morning and was gathering necessities for the duration of his patrol when Maglor strode purposefully into the room, decked with bow, quiver, and blade. “Don’t bother with those, Maedhros, you won’t be needing them.”

The elder looked his brother over quickly. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going in place of you. By staying through the winter, you did me the dishonor of taking my watch. I’m taking yours, brother.” Maedhros made to argue but Maglor put his hand in restraint upon him and silenced the rebuttal early. “ _Russandol_ , I have not been blind while I have been silent. You have a greater purpose for remaining than I.” Receiving a perplexed expression, Maglor smirked and slapped his brother’s neck in good humor. “I am happy for you. Kalin is a rare blessing.”

The younger son turned and made for the door, halted only by his sibling’s voice behind him. “ _Thank_ you, Kano.” With a moment’s pause and bow, the second born left the room and walked through two more halls before he came to another chamber, once claimed by his brother and captain. Hesitating for only an instant in contemplation of how he should conduct himself, Maglor knocked gently on the door with gauntlet-clad knuckles.

After a moment, it was opened to reveal Kalin in a simple nightgown and damp curls hanging wildly about her face. He smiled to see her, but she furrowed her fair brow at his state of dress. “Where are you going?” She asked, a tone of distress in her voice.

“I’m riding for the March tonight, I wanted to see you before I left.”

The young maiden shook her head. “But Maedhros…”

“ _I’m_ going.”

Her head tilted, finding him out through the manner in which he answered. “Are you doing this for us?”

He took her hand in his and pressed it so that he could just feel her through his leather gloves, finally looking to her beautiful eyes with meaning. “I’m doing this for _you_.” Her gaze changed and he bowed with a somber ‘fare well’ before striding back down the hall and away from her doorway. But Kalin did not long stand frozen in place, and ran afterwards to catch him up, throwing her arms around his neck in an embrace of gratitude. Maglor tensed in her hold and took her by the shoulders to push gently away. “Mîrluiniel, please don’t… Do not lay these attentions on _me_. There is _another_ who should be receiving your affection now.” He turned away reluctantly and left, finally escaping her sight as he turned the corner.

 

The days in Himring passed more peaceably than Mîrluiniel had expected as a whole upon hearing all the dangers of living in the north, being so far east and therefore closer to evil things. Thus with no incident, she grew at ease and rather ignorant of such potential threats, enjoying completely the time Maedhros spent with her every day.

She quickly regained her skill and learned new ways of riding and horsemanship under his careful tutelage and the good training of Rúnyadal’s patience. “I am proud of this brute.” Maedhros spoke as he rubbed the stallion’s neck one day in appreciation. “Rúnya was never so docile for _me_ as he is when _you_ are upon his back.” Sitting high where he indicated, Kalin laughed and stroked the animal’s neck likewise in praise. “Perhaps it is just an elleth’s touch.” The captain remarked conclusively and met the lady’s gaze with a smile, soft, but significant, as every sign of pleasure from such a lord was. Maedhros never smiled at her, it seemed, without a meaning behind it for her to discern and smile back at.

Pilindiel soon came running up to the Noldo with rosy cheeks and a sweet smile, calling out to him. His laugh was warm as he scooped her up into his arms and held her against his chest. “Where is your sister, young one?”

The little raven-haired child grinned proudly before rushing an answer and getting to her _own_ news. “She’s with Naneth. But guess _what_!”

The edhel shared a humorous glance with the maiden above him and played the elfling’s game. “What?”

Pili waved at Kalin for a distracted moment before turning back to Maedhros and clapping her small hands on his shoulders. “Naneth and Atar said I’m going to be a _big_ sister! Naneth’s to have a baby!” Kalin was immediately glad for such a blessing, but also saw Maedhros’ initial reaction and could not help but be puzzled by it. It was brief, for the child’s sake no doubt, but it was an expression of regret and sorrow. He soon put on a visage of happiness and mirth and congratulated Pili on her ‘promotion’ in the family before offering a ride and lifting her to Kalin’s lap. Leading them on with his face turned away, Mîrluiniel could see how his body language portrayed his true thoughts, causing her to wonder why such an exciting thing as the expectation of a new life occasioned this somber response.

Maedhros took Pili around the court enough to see, and be seen by, her friends before he carried the lass down and told her to go play. Turning to Kalin, he then assisted her down from her seat, mounting upon his horse and hastily explaining to her. “I’m going for a ride.”

He began to turn away but she stayed him, gaining his attention with her grasp on his ankle. “May I go _with_ you?” She waited for him to say ‘no’ as he hesitated, unsure whether he wanted anyone present when he needed to counsel in thought and regroup within himself.

To any other elf he would have refused without a second thought; but another look at this elleth he had so grown to care for, and his hand reached for her of its own accord. Giving him her left arm, he pulled her up behind him deftly. Kalin’s arms wrapped around his torso and he murmured for her to ‘hold on’ before urging Rúnyadal into a gallop, fleeing past the walls of the keep swiftly.

Mîrluiniel kept quiet as they rode and held tight to him, breathing in his scent of leather and sweat that remained from breaking in a young horse that morning. They wove through the trees south of Himring, the wind chasing and trying to grab at them through dipping boughs and stirred up leaves. Though the sun was noon-high, it was hidden behind blown-in clouds and a grey sky above new greens in the canopy.

Rúnyadal slowed to a trot through some tall sycamores and they came to the same waterfall that Maglor had showed her in the winter, beautiful in every season, she was certain. There seemed no doubt that Maedhros came her often to sort out his thoughts, and Kalin wondered if when Maglor had revealed it to her, it held more meaning than only a pretty view to bestow.

The eldest Fëanorian then dismounted distractedly, helping her down with the chivalry in him that never slept, before he turned away and began pacing aimlessly about the water’s edge. Mîrluiniel found a seat upon a moss-covered rock and watched him patiently. At length he crouched beside the stream of cold water and let his fingers drift through the current. Judging by his calmer body language, she felt safe to make her inquiry. “Why are you not happy about Remethiel’s pregnancy? I noticed your face when the child first revealed the news…”

His jaw clenched momentarily and he glanced toward her with reluctance. “You’ve been observing me more closely than I’m used to being watched… No, I am not as joyful as perhaps I should be. I cannot help it…” He paused and chanced to look at her again, finally admitting his true unease. “It is another life to be responsible for, another to protect and defend. Another that might come to _harm_ under my care.” He scooped his hand through the water and slowly opened his fingers as he stood, watching the liquid flow out of his hold and onto the ground at his boots. “My heart longs to be glad for them, and if we were in Valinor I would be completely so… but how long can it last while we dwell in these wilds? We should never have left Aman.”

Kalin rose and came before him, closing his fingers to save the last several droplets of water from escaping his grasp. “ _I_ am thankful you came here. If it had been as you say you desire, I would be long dead in an abandoned forest…” He turned his head away, upset at such a gruesome thought, yet she went on. “And we would _never_ have met, nor even known of the other’s existence.”

He looked down at her hand and the water she helped him keep safely within the palm, so very like the happiness he could not attain without her close to him. Yet in _her_ hand there was no water, and what _could_ she gather while she still aided him so attentively? Carefully he turned his hand so that the liquid poured into hers and then dropped his fingers away. “Perhaps, it would have been _best_ , had you never known of me.” He suggested, meeting her perplexed and disappointed eyes with his forlorn gaze, subtly shaking his head.

Her head also shook, though in agitation. “Why do you do this, Maedhros?” The elleth finally confronted him. “Why do you continue to push me a _mile_ away every time mere _inches_ have been gained? Every instance that seems to bring us closer is _robbed_ when you distance yourself and estrange me.” Her lightly colored brow knit in frustration and clear eyes sought his for the answers he was due to give.

Maedhros turned away, uncertain of how to respond as his fingers ran through wind-mussed hair. “Kalin, just _look_ at me…” He faced her and held open his arms in a vulnerable gesture. “I have been _cursed_ , and by my _own_ doing. My curse is that no matter how strong I may be, I have no assurances that I can protect those I _lo_ … those with whom I associate. My curse is to endure and _watch,_ helplessly or deliberately, as those around me suffer.” He neared her only a little, but enough for her to see the anguish deep in those limitless green eyes. “You do not understand what great harm I can bring upon you, Kalin.”

He spoke lowly, his voice subdued, and her heart raced for a moment in fear before her confidence was quickly rebuilt. “In what ways, could you harm me, Maedhros?” Her voice was just as soft and in such a tone that he could not discern the emotion behind it, whether she maintained a fear or self-assurance within her.

He looked down, averting his eyes from hers of morning blue, and answered her. “Please know, that _never_ would I intentionally harm you…” A glance was all he could afford of his resolve before he began. “I know that you are not of Noldorin blood, and therefore by being Sindarin most, if not _all_ , of your kind are upon less than friendly terms with my brothers and I. If ever a conflict were to occur, I could very well do _severe_ harm to your family. Especially if they ever come into possession of even one of the Silmarilli and fail to surrender it. Such a thing is hardly within our control, for the oath so drives us to do it.” He waited for her reproach, yet Kalin received him in a way very unlike how he had expected.

She sank to her knees on the leaf-strewn shore and stared down at her missing hand, silent for a moment until Maedhros knelt before her in concern. “My hand no longer remains for me to see or use… but that is _all_ I let this handicap take from me. It cannot make me steal, cannot make me take life. _I_ still control my body, my actions, and my emotions. You _still_ have control, Maedhros.” She looked up to him and silently commanded his gaze to lock with hers by the conviction in those eyes. “Much _more_ has been taken from you, _yes_ , but you do, and always will, have a choice.” The faith and trust she gave to him through her intent look weakened him physically and he found himself nodding in subconscious agreement with her words.

He wanted desperately to believe what she said and obey her wishes as such, but she could not fully grasp the meaning of his oath and all to which it pertained. For now, though, he could not bring himself to contend with her. “For so young, your words are very wise.” He remarked honestly, managing a small smirk.

Though recognizing his evasive compliment for what it was, Mîrluiniel smiled in response and agreed to let go the topic, for the time being, at least. “I’m not so young as you think…”

Her voice sounded even more innocent in her protest and he laughed gently at it. “You are young and beautiful. What could such things want with me?” The Noldo asked in a voice that held something like regret and she eyed him curiously from her place on her knees.

“Do you still see _no_ good in yourself, Maedhros? It saddens me greatly to see that you do not.”

“Goodness, by definition, is _constant_. _You_ have always done others good and received it in kind, where _I_ …” Kalin reached for his hand there, studying it intently so that he might not perceive her inner distress when he mentioned his old sins. “I have done _terrible_ things at intervals with what you would call ‘good.’ In no way do I wish to bring you sadness, Kalin, but this is hardly to be changed. I do not trust myself, and therefore am not to be trusted.”

Sighing, the elleth shook her head and pressed his calloused hand within hers. “You make a hopeless case for yourself. I must not be so wise as you think, for I cannot at this moment tell you what you should do.” At last she turned her eyes back up to him and met a strange look in his that resembled admiration and longing. She realized then, something she knew he had not: he _wanted_ to be encouraged, to have this burdensome yoke be shared. Yet Kalin wished not only to _share_ its weight, but also to take it completely from his shoulders. A smile slowly crept to her mouth at the acquiring of this knowledge and she leaned just enough closer to gain her lord’s more conscious focus. “I will do all that I can to give you hope, in any way possible, Maedhros. I know whatever obstacles you find, or make for yourself, you will prevail over them.”

“You lied when you told me you knew not what to say.” He remarked simply, studying the detail of her face while she remained so near. Wind blew stronger around and between them with the declining of the day and Mîrluiniel grew chill with such early spring air piercing through her. Maedhros attentively saw her brief shiver and pulled her up with the hand she still held, catching her by the arm to steady the elleth on her feet. “I should return you to a fireside, you are hardly dressed to be riding hours away from the Hill with me.” Rúnyadal was called over and the tall prince lifted her to the saddle with ease, swinging up behind and taking the reins to lead them on.

As they progressed, Kalin found herself becoming strangely anxious for reasons she could not grasp. An unknown warning that caused concern welled instinctively in her chest, and she noticed that Maedhros felt the same way the closer they came to Himring. Mounting a far rise that witnessed the eastern border of the keep, they descried three figures riding fast toward the gate, out of ceremony, even for sentries. Maedhros galloped Rúnya the rest of their path and communicated to Kalin that he recognized the insignia upon those swift-riding men as of being his own, not another realm’s nor the enemy’s.

Upon entering through the gate, a guard informed his captain that the new arrivals included lord Maglor, but also warned him that each man was badly wounded. The eldest son rushed to where he saw them being huddled around and quickly dismounted to join them, leaving Kalin with the horse. “ _Maglor_! What’s happened? Where are the others?” He came up to the dark mare and questioned as the second-born leaned over weakly to accept his aid in coming down.

“The rest are on the March and _safe_ , my brother. It was not a large threat, but the _yrch_ were hid in the earth and came upon some of us before the sun was lit.” Maglor gasped as his right arm lifted to hold onto Maedhros’ shoulder, the grievance caused by what looked to be an arrow wound. Kalin hurried to his other side and helped to hold him upright where a slashed leg hindered progress.

They came into the fort with him and two other wounded elves, setting them down on long dinner tables to care for their hurts. The elleth with ivory curls took most care of Maglor as his eldest brother talked with him, Calanon soon joining their conversation, as he was one high enough in rank to be privy to such information. “If they were hidden, they must have known you would come by that way and have been tracking our movements.” The officer surmised upon hearing out the circumstances, but his injured compatriot shook his head.

“No. They led us into the trap by leaving their trail of maimed carcasses. We could smell them for a mile and broke off to investigate. It was a lure.”

Maedhros had been pacing up till now, but then stopped with his foreboding answer. “They’re getting closer, and they’re becoming bolder.”

“Morgoth is probing us? Testing our strength?” The third of the present party suggested, throwing out options for motive.

“It may be so, Calanon. But the cursed one will find us steadfast when none of his pawns return to bring news.” Maglor at least sounded confident on his part, and it gave Kalin a grain of strength against the fear their discussion was invoking within her.

“You are certain not one was left, Maglor? You scoured the trees for spies?” Maedhros felt doubtful where Maglor was sure, and she again worried when the latter became silent for some moments.

“I know every yrch who _fought_ was destroyed, but…”

The eldest turned quickly to his soldier and ordered. “Calanon, take your horse quickly and go to the Marches. Track each orc as far as you dare and discern if any tried to return to their master. Be prepared, and I will come to relieve your duty in a week’s time.”

“Yes, captain.” He went immediately and left the building to ready his steed. Kalin did not turn from where she carefully removed a gnarled arrowhead from the Fëanorian’s shoulder, but was secretly glad that Maedhros would not depart from her so suddenly. She called over a fellow-healer and he brought her stitching to suture the open flesh her patient now laid bare. Maglor’s eyes met hers briefly and he smiled as best he could.

“Are you all right, Maglor?” Maedhros finally inquired after his brother, and, though he winced at the needle passing through a tender spot, he replied steadily.

“I _shall_ be. Forgive my not being thorough, I…”

Maedhros put his hand up. “It is learned, brother.” At this he left them to check on the other edhil who had returned wounded along with his kin.

Maglor sighed and glanced at Mîrluiniel, sufficiently brightening his eyes as soon as they landed upon her. “You and Maedhros went for a ride?”

She blushed beautifully, nodding that they had. “It wasn’t a pleasure ride, however.” She spoke softly. “We were in the fortress walls when we were told that Remethiel is with child again.” He smiled gently and the maiden did also. “I was happy as well, but Maedhros’ initial expression was not so at all. I was upon Rúnyadal and he helped me down, mounting and saying he was going for a ride. Well, I wanted to know the meaning of his expression before, and I asked to go with him. At first, I thought he might refuse me, but he helped me up and I went along.” She was quiet then, as she took care of his injuries, and he waited for more.

“I think I have an idea of what you found out. ‘But another life to risk by staying at Himring.’ Am I wrong?”

Kalin met his eye with some surprise, but then tilted her head after a moment with another understanding. “You feel the same way, don’t you?”

He sighed, grimacing as he lifted his leg to prop against a bench. “I used to, and do so now only to a very small degree. Maedhros has expressed much the same thing to me when many of our older children were born, and I often felt the same way. But I realized life is much more often a blessing than a curse.”

“It is _always_ a blessing.” She corrected him quickly and looked up with furrowed brows. “How can life be a curse?”

Maglor frowned. “When children are stolen by a dark lord and bred to become the _abominations_ that attacked us this day… Life _can_ be a curse, Mîrluiniel, and could I do so, I would prevent your ever seeing it.” Her gaze fell from his in shame and quietly she mended the slash upon his calf muscle. Kalin had not thought of that, and how foolishly she forgot the horrors of her own people in the darkness before knowing the Valar, when Morgoth spirited away her kin and malformed them with torture. She shuddered inwardly and put fie upon her ignorance.

After finishing her attendance to him, the fair elleth gathered her things and made to assist the other soldiers when he took her by the empty wrist and stopped her softly, an apologetic expression upon his face. “Forgive me, my lady. I should not have been so harsh…”

“No, Maglor. I never wish you to conceal your honesty from me. I just, I am embarrassed by my _own_ imprudence.”

He shut his lips a moment as he listened to her, but hastily advised. “I would not have it be so. _Innocence_ is nothing to be ashamed of, and that is all you need worry for having shown. What you spoke was from your pure heart, and not to be ridiculed.” He let go of her arm then, glancing at his brother across the room talking with his soldiers. “I am most thankful for your care of me, Kalin.” He bowed to her and stood on uneasy legs to limp where his brother held council, leaving her with varying thoughts.

 

Mîrluiniel found the eldest son of Fëanor on the east wall after their meal that night and sought tentatively to stand as near as she felt possible without intruding upon his quiet. It was of no use, though, for as he leaned his forearms on the stone guard wall, Maedhros turned his face to her and smiled slightly. Feeling welcome now to approach, she stood by his side and shared his view of the dark east, no longer lit by the moon’s safe illumination. “The yrch always grow bolder with the waxing of Tilion’s light. Every attack that’s been made has been under the cover of darkness.” The Noldo prince remarked as his eyes, keen in their depth, scanned the rocks and forests past his Hill. “At least we have an ally in Arien, whose eyes Morgoth still fears and hates the sight of.” A silence passed.

“How many attacks have there _been_ , Maedhros? Are they always so damaging?” Kalin ventured her questions and noticed his glance quickly falling upon her hand and arm, which rested on the wall with his.

“Enough… enough to keep us from growing comfortable. And, as for _damages_ , it depends on the skill of each elf.”

She mulled this over with a shadow of a frown. “Is not Maglor second to you? Surely he has great skill.”

Maedhros sighed. “Yes. Maglor is an efficient warrior, and skilled among many.”

“But does that not mean…”

“The enemy grows stronger.” He finished and stood upright, straightening his posture to oppose the vulnerability in that statement. “It is possible… It may be, that an attack to the fortress is being organized. It could be many years…” The captain’s voice trailed off, obviously very thoughtful about the situation and what he needed to do to defend against it. Mîrluiniel hardly knew what to say, or what an attack on the keep could even _mean_ for them. Were they fortified enough? What kind of force would they meet with? Hundreds… _thousands_? She had never experienced a battle.

A hand gently grasped her arm and she turned to see the faint flicker of torchlight upon Maedhros’ face. “Forgive me, Kalin, if I’ve revealed too much. I should not put such a burden on your shoulders.”

Shaking her head, she answered. “You can tell me whatever you wish. I only desire that you not bear this all on your own.” He smirked briefly and she wondered if he would consider that desire one to be fulfilled or not. Their moment of physical contact was ruptured when Taurvantian trotted up between them and wagged his tail against their legs merrily. A pleasant smile broke out upon the young woman’s lips as she bent down and scratched the lean hound under his chin. “Hello, Vant.” She greeted the creature sweetly and allowed him to lean affectionately against her thigh.

“Shall I leave him with you while I am gone?” Maedhros offered as she stood once more and observed her surprise.

“You will not need him?”

The flame-haired elf shook his head and answered. “Not as much as I think you will _enjoy_ him. Taurvantian is young, yet, I would rather he protect you _here_ than risk his life with me.”

The elleth furrowed her brows slightly when she understood that he meant the dog to _guard_ her while he was away, and realized that such a kind offer was not to be refused. “I thank you. I promise to keep him with me wherever I am until your return.”

Bowing his head, he was grateful for the acceptance of this small token of regard. “That gives me comfort, I am glad of it.”

Mîrluiniel studied him as he said this and decided to ask, herself. “And what will give me comfort for _your_ safety, my lord?”

His jaw clenched in a failed attempt at a smile and she waited patiently for his eyes to return to hers, his reply soon coming after. “Your comfort is my sword. I’m afraid that is all the assurance I can give my lady.” With a sigh Kalin looked down to the hound at her side and then turned to the blackness of the east. Maedhros interpreted her reaction differently than she had intended. “You doubt my ability with the sword?”

She turned to him, confused at first, then serious. “I do not doubt your _ability_ , only the _use_ of that ability.”

The Noldo grew insulted. “Now you question my commanding judgment.”

“I’m not! I only worry that if it comes to it, you would allow yourself great harm or _death_ to defend that which could be saved without such measures.”

“So you would have me save myself, only. A selfish captain I would be, indeed, if I were not willing to lay down my life for any of my men. I will not be made a coward!”

“It is not cowardice to save both your life and that of others. It is not being a coward to _live_!” She was disturbed by how rapidly their argument had progressed and the scowl on his face as they stared at each other. “Good eve, my lord.” Her voice quieted as she turned away from him, and with a moment’s hesitation, Taurvantian ran after the elleth and accompanied her down the wall. Maedhros watched her shadow cross the courtyard with a frown before turning angrily and pounding his fist against the stone barrier.

He would leave at daybreak.

 

Mîrluiniel slept with Vant for warmth that night. She felt so _cold_. Why couldn’t he understand that she worried for his life because she cared for him? She felt she had reason to fear what she had expressed. For evidence she remembered his rescuing Celebrimbor from the river. He received that gash without a thought for anything but the lad’s safety. Was she not reasonable to be concerned that he might do such a thing in graver circumstances? Kalin got out from under the furs and knelt in front of her small fire, reaching her left arm out to the flames without thinking, her hand tucked securely beneath the opposite arm. The sleepy hound behind her hopped down from the bed and sniffed at her outstretched arm, nuzzling her cheek once she brought it back.

“Taurvantian, I wish _you_ could make him understand.” He seemed to smile at her calmly with his steady panting, and it succeeded in evoking a smile from her, also. His ears perked toward her and he nudged her as if to say ‘you look tired.’ Nodding, Kalin scratched his head and crawled back into her warm bed, thinking about Maedhros and his elusive temperament before exhaustion finally called loud enough for her to hear.

She awoke to a much different call: the sound of a horse galloping outside her window. Confused, since her window faced outside the keep, she thought. ‘Who could be riding out so early?’ The question began in her mind but the answer came instantaneously, causing her to jolt out of the bed. Maedhros’ name was murmured under her breath as a shawl was thrown on in haste and bare feet carried her outside. Mîrluiniel ran swiftly through the muddy courtyard and paid a drizzling, dark sky no heed as she fled up the steps onto the eastern wall.

Pre-dawn’s early glow through thick rain clouds lent her sight enough to catch the glint of armor and swishing tail of Rúnyadal as Maedhros rode the stallion through the trees towards the east. Clasping her knit shawl only loosely around her arms with one hand, the elleth’s long curls blew brightly in the wind atop the tall structure, a pure contrast to the dirty storm clouds and grey rain. As if in the hopes that her voice would carry to him on Manwë’s breath, Kalin spoke softly to her warrior. “Your sword be swift.” Clear eyes followed him long after the thick forest concealed his figure and she gazed on with silent prayers for his protection.

Soon she felt the presence of another at her side and turned to see Maglor propped against the wall not three feet from her. He, also, looked to the east. “Seeing him off?” He asked, turning to her finally.

“I didn’t even know he was going today. I fear I may have caused his haste this morning for we had… something of a quarrel, last night.”

The injured elf took a limping step toward her and pulled her shawl up over her shoulders properly, though it defended only a little more against the wind and rain. “I see. And you parted…”

“On somewhat estranged terms. I should not have pushed my point… I know he is a flawless warrior, what I said made no difference. I just wanted to make sure he would defend _himself_.”

“Ah, now we come to it. Maedhros in battle is a fearsome thing to behold. He attacks and destroys his enemy, and he defends his men. His self-defense _is_ his offense, his attack. There’s hardly middle ground with my brother, Kalin, if you have not noticed this yet.” The elf studied her a moment and smiled slightly. “Judging by your predicament, I think you have.”

Humorlessly, she nodded, looking back to his face after a time. “Will he be all right, Maglor?”

He gazed down at her admiringly and brushed a wet curl from in front of her eyes. “If he knows what is waiting for him _here_ , he will.”


	11. Out of Night Has Come the Day

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 11** /?

 **Chapter Summary:** This moment was to be cherished: her hand resting against his steadily beating heart, his arms still strong around her even in his slumped posture, the look of a tranquil man upon his chiseled face.

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. -_-

 

Maedhros had seen her beautiful visage on the wall as he rode away that morning, even heard her voice on the wind that raced after him, though her words were indistinguishable. Yet he kept on, weaving through dense woods that led him northeast. The rain diverted his anger to old scars that screamed at him beneath his armor.

It couldn’t make him forget the night before, nor his frustrations. He had determined he would go as soon as light hit his eyes the next day, Kalin’s questioning his strength had so perturbed him. ‘How can she challenge my own ability? I would pass through _flame_ to protect her!’ He raged within himself, now pushing Rúnyadal harder so that he might reach his March as fast as possible.

At last, with the end of the day approaching, Maedhros found the markings leading to his men, invisible to those who knew not what to look for. Calanon greeted him and gave his report on what was to be found with the yrch tracks. “They took great care to cover their trail, and the rain has not helped. This morning we found fresh tracks going southwest for a couple of miles before they got wise and kept to the rocks. We counted something on seven sets of prints.”

Handing Rúnya off to another with a nod, Maedhros asked his officer further. “Did you find any tracks leading north or east?”

He shook his head and ran a hand through his wet slicked hair. “I searched everywhere, but the fact is I have no assurances none escaped. Everything around the attack area was washed out from the storm, there wasn’t a trace of slot to be found.” Displeased, though not with his man, Maedhros dismissed him with a command that he continue searching with a rout before all their light ran out for the day.

The Noldorin prince walked about his huddled soldiers distractedly, thinking and recalculating his guards and defenses. How fast could they ride from here to Himring? How many men could he spare from the fortress to keep the March active? Were the walls deep enough, tall enough? Where was it likely the enemy would attack next? If necessary, what route could they take for retreat? These questions may have seemed premature, as any battle was certainly not to happen so soon, but Maedhros knew that he should have considered more of these questions long ago when Himring was first built.

Only the truth was, he could hardly have done _better_. The stronghold was built high upon a hill, where those upon the wall could easily see for miles were there to be any great attack. The incline combined with the height of the barricades made breaching them extremely difficult, if not impregnable. Dozens of hidden stores lay beneath the inner keep, filled with food and additional armories. Yet only a thick stone door through the western wall remained as their escape, if such an escape were required. Maedhros feared that if ever that became necessary, the Hill would already on all sides be encroached.

He came to his bivouac and sat with his head back against a tall fir, finding some comfort in the life it emanated through its stock. The rain grieved Maedhros’ wounds, old and new, and, with a sigh of resignation, he was certain Ulmo would not let up his onslaught any time soon. Thoughts of Kalin’s perfect blue eyes warmed him through soaked clothing, and he found himself closing his eyes to better see her. “Kalin…” His whisper involuntarily spoke her name and the pain in his right arm subsided greatly, adding to his peace.

Yet just as his eyes shut, a vision appeared to him of a large tree surrounded at the base in fire. The tendrils floated up with deceiving grace to catch the branches and new leaves, wilting the plant and causing a pillar of smoke to rise from the tree’s pain. Something moved near the top, a figure, and immediately fear gripped him for he knew that it could be no enemy. He could not understand how this person could be so silent, and every time he attempted to call out, his voice was muted. The figure stayed fidgeting high in the upper boughs for an unbearable amount of time before a scream, both of pain and despair, rung out through his mind. In horror, he awoke.

Maedhros panted in shock and clutched his sword hilt with white knuckles. ‘That was Kalin’s scream… it could be no other’s.’ His mind raced, sending beads of sweat to fall from his troubled brow and mingle with rain still falling from an early morning sky. Reaching blindly for the tree behind him, the elf pulled himself back against it and desperately sought its comfort, trying to take deep breaths. “ _No._ She cannot die.” He calmed himself enough at last to deny it. “The vision is false. It won’t happen, just as the other hasn’t happened. They are the plagues of Morgoth.” Shaking the thoughts of her from his head, Maedhros grasped his right arm and winced at the familiar throbbing where his hand had long ago been attached.

“My lord, Maedhros.” A soldier called him away, and quickly he resolved not to think of the fair elleth he had left behind in Himring.

 

Taurvantian jumped and played tug-of-war with the elfling children as Mîrluiniel watched on from her seat near the sparring field. A ghost of a smile graced her pale face at the sight, but no more than that.

Remethiel, beaming with the joy of her pregnancy, approached her with a basket of dried cherries and offered her some with a smile that soon faded when her friend declined the fruit. “Kalin, are you well? Your cheeks have lost all color.”

The maiden sighed and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “He’s been gone a month as of two days, Remethiel. I don’t think he wants to come back while I am yet here.”

The mother set aside her basket and sat next to her forlorn companion with a hand on her arm. “ _Nonsense_ , lass. If I know aught about Maedhros, it’s that he is not one to rush into anything. He will come, and you will talk, and this will all be behind you.” Her attempts to cheer Kalin did little in that regard and she remained silent as the children came to eat the cherries their mother had brought for them.

Once they had gone to play and Vant came to stand by his ward, Kalin rose with Remethiel and told her. “I’m going for a walk. Taurvantian and I will go to see about exploring beyond the north wall.”

She began to walk off with her loyal hound when the expectant mother called out to her. “Kalin, have you not seen the sky? The storms are back, and I would not have you both wet _and_ lost!”

“I do not mind the wet! And Vant can lead me home if that’s needed.” Without allowing another qualm to be voiced, Kalin’s feet raced the long-legged canine out of the gate, soon flying down the Hill and out of sight within the trees.

Mîrluiniel ran for some time until her legs began to ache and large droplets of rain caught her shoulders and crown. Her ribs hurt as she tried to catch hr breath, but she refused to stop moving, still walking forward determinedly. It grew dark with threatening clouds overhead and the dark of evening close on their heals. She passed through ravines and spurs of the surrounding hills, paying little heed to _where_ she turned or _which_ hill she chose to skirt around or pass over. At length she looked up to find that the rain had gotten denser and thunder rippled through the air, trembling through the ground. In her depth of thought, she still did not consider it time to turn back.

Kalin began to sing with the thunder as it approached more loudly, nearly shutting out every sense but her song when Taurvantian barked and left her side to go ahead. She stopped singing to follow him, but he turned quickly with a soft bark at her, almost bidding her to stay put as he galloped forward. In a moment she understood. She heard _yrch_ voices coming. Looking about frantically for someplace to hide, for she had no weapon, Mîrluiniel turned and crawled swiftly up a great cypress with close boughs to hide her.

She reached the top as the sound of Vant’s stressed barks and growling met with the orcish hollering and arguments. “Kill ‘im, ee’s makin’ a fuss to any’n close.” One of them grunted while another replied in the Black Speech, pulling out a bow. Kalin flinched as the arrow made its mark and she heard her precious guard’s last whimper. “Ay it smells, _agh_ , smell lik’n _elf_!”

“There moit be ‘n near’bouts.” Another began sniffing suspiciously and came to the base of her tree, looking up into the opaque canopy in disgust. They communicated in the Common Tongue and Black Speech intermittently, preventing her from understanding any of it. They began then to tear the dead dog apart, making her weak to the stomach to hear their bone cracking and chewing. Tears of anguish and fear streamed down her face though she dared not make a sound to give away her hiding place.

 

Maedhros returned to Himring with some trepidation. Could he really apologize for defending his men? Would _she_ apologize? Or did she still believe herself in the right? Would she embrace him warmly, or shrug him off and forsake him?

Yet as he galloped into his keep that night, those thoughts fled his mind as his recovering brother gimped toward him urgently. “ _Maedhros_! Kalin has gone and not returned!” The fear from his dream returned to the eldest son and choked his heart with this one statement. Rúnyadal danced in place, sensing his master’s agitation. “She told Remethiel this afternoon that she was going for a walk, and took only your hound with her.”

A frown of determination etched itself upon the eldest’s chiseled face and he dismounted long enough only to remove the-- now cumbrous-- saddle from his flame-foot’s back. “Did she say anything of her direction?”

“North. But…” Maglor could not finish before his brother turned and bounded off with his high-tailed stallion.

“I won’t come back without her!” Maedhros called behind him and the younger nodded woefully. He knew this to be true.

Maedhros galloped north through the dark at a surprising speed for as close as the forest was for maneuverability. Leaning forward to his horse’s keen ears, he spoke in his mother tongue beseechingly. “Please find your strength, my Rúnya. I _must_ find her.” At his urging, the majestic horse eagerly obeyed and sprinted through the well-known landmarks. With a fortunate streak of light from the dense clouds above, he saw the imprint of Kalin’s running feet in the soft earth, accompanied also by Taurvantian’s paws not far from them.

 

Kalin trembled in her disgust. The smell of raw flesh and waste wafted from below up to her nostrils and sickened her. Never had she believed yrch to be _so_ much more repulsive than she’d been told in stories. She wanted nothing more than to be back in Himring.

As the beasts finished their small feast, a few smaller ones began sniffing her tree once more, and with some unknown communication, they drew their bows and shot aimlessly into the close foliage. In terror, Mîrluiniel held fiercely to the trunk and barely breathed in her stillness. The increasing downpour of rain camouflaged dark arrows, and she prayed her flinches were masked by the wind swaying the tree.

“Ya _blugs_! Stop yer ar wastin’. _Burn_ tha thing out!” An orc ordered indistinctly and they hurried under the thick branches to find dry tinder. Kalin gasped inadvertently when she realized what they were going to do, drawing only one creature’s attention who still could not discern where she was located and therefore only laughed something in confirmation to his cohorts. The flames started easily with the dried needles they had found and, to her dismay, she found the fire completely surrounding the girth of the tree.

Her voice muted now against the loud crackling below her, Mîrluiniel apologized for bringing harm to the living tree and prayed that the Valar would grant her strength. Looking everywhere and anywhere for escape, she panicked that the other trees were too far for her to jump to, and if she were to flee she would be seen and shot before any progress could be made. Arrows randomly flew through the greenery and came closer to her as the haphazard aims were directed higher. One grazed the back of her leg, exposing flesh through the tear in her dress.

Smelling her blood, the yrch began hooting and shouting below her, sending Kalin into a panic when she realized they would certainly not cease until she was dead. Climbing to the opposite side of the trunk, she clung to it and dodged many more arrows penetrating the wilting tree’s defenses. Smoke strangled her lungs as all clean air left her reach and the heat of stoked flames beneath began to sear her feet and back.

Between tears of dread and tears of fume, she could not see, but _hear_ , galloping hooves nearing swiftly between thunder and rain pounding into her ears. Lightning bolted dangerously close on a nearby tree and cracked the wood loudly, masking momentarily the clang of swords on the ground now far below her. An orc shriek chilled her to the bone as her feet blistered with the rising blaze. Pain and fear now became an onslaught to her from every direction, too fast for her to register keeping silent any longer. In desperation she screamed to combat the roar of the storm and the deafening fire that surrounded her.

“ _Kalin_!” A masculine voice called to her above the tempest and she cried in thanks to hear it. “I can see you! You must _jump_ , I am ready to catch you!”

Sobbing with eyes shut tightly, Mîrluiniel shook her head. “I _can’t_!” She called back; frightened of the height she had climbed to.

“You _can_! You must trust me!” His words saved her life as she obeyed and slowly released her grip on the branches and leaned backwards with a nervous cry. She fell long and at last landed in his open arms, causing him to fall back with the momentum, but otherwise unharmed. Lightning angrily struck the old tree and split it in two, the large half dropping some ways from where they laid flat. “We have to get to a safer place!” He told her and helped her up, only to have her collapse against him with a sob of pain. “You’re _hurt_.” Maedhros quickly assessed and lifted her into his arms, carrying her at a run as he made their way to a clearing.

She clung to him gratefully and wept in a kind of relief against his shoulder. “It’s all right.” He murmured to soothe her and pressed his cheek to her brow. “You’re safe, I have you. I’m here.”

Kalin didn’t know how he had known she was in danger, or even how he had found her, but at that moment she couldn’t care. He rescued her, he had her in his arms, and they were alive. “ _Maedhros_ …” The elleth whimpered weakly but he shushed her gently, knowing full well she was in shock. It was likely she had never seen an orc in her blessedly young life, not until that evening.

He’d found the remains of Taurvantian and guessed rightly that she was close by when that had happened. It was a horrific experience to go through, this night she’d had. “I know… I have you, I’ll protect you now.” When Kalin opened her eyes they were trudging through a low meadow dispersed with mud from the hard rain. Maedhros soon knelt in the slough to lay them down in a rutted out area.

“Wait, is there nowhere to find shelter?”

Sitting up she protested, but with a shake of his head he carefully pulled her trembling form back down, holding her close in an attempt to ease her quivering. “Lying beneath anything tall, now, would only direct a strike toward us. Here, the lightning will pass over. I promise we are safe.” Willing at his words, Kalin burrowed deeper into the mud with him and let the comfort of his presence enfold her.

A loud clap of thunder scared the on-edge maiden and she quickly clung more tightly to the elf, hiding her face in his neck as he held her securely, her cries causing her to shake violently with unleashed tension. “I’m so sorry! I should have stayed where I was…” Between sobs, the current of her withheld emotions began to rush out in a tremor-filled voice.

“ _No_ , no _I_ am to blame, Kalin. I should not have left you so suddenly. I was wrong to argue with you.” His body tensed as he apologized, irritated with himself for having so rashly dealt with her on what now seemed to be such an insignificant subject. After a few moments of feeling his fingers thread her wet hair, Mîrluiniel realized that he, also, was crying, even as steadfast as he was being. His hold on her was amazingly stronger than hers upon him, and a great part within her rejoiced at this subtle assertion of his feelings. That this impenetrable warrior openly humbled himself in her presence, it was a broken barrier into his heart that she would always treasure.

She lay huddled against him all night, frightening herself awake with every rumble of the storm, but always in Maedhros’ arms. Cradling her, he murmured of pleasanter things until the steadiness of his voice and warmth of his embrace contrasted enough against the harsh elements around them so that she was lulled once more to sleep. It was a long, restless cycle for her champion, but vigilantly he kept his watch over the damsel whose protection occupied his every thought.

The worst of the storm passed on a few hours before dawn and Maedhros felt it safe at last to seek refuge more suited to keeping dry. Rising from the soup of mire they had sunken into, he calmly lifted the sleeping elleth to hold against his chest and walked through the sodden field towards a haven of thickly leaved trees ahead. He sat down under a bowed sugar maple and crossed his legs with Kalin curled sweetly in his lap, her head lying unconscious upon his shoulder. With something resembling solace, he allowed himself at last to rest back his own head and, in every way exhausted, quickly found rest in the impromptu position.

Mîrluiniel awoke as the faint light of day slowly seeped through residual clouds, allowing her eyes just enough dawn to see the sleeping and sullied face of the Noldo above her. With his wet hair tousled in mud, she could only see streaks of the natural red color that had been rinsed clear by droplets through the canopy they resided under now. Noticing only then that he had moved them, she was surprised the transition had not woken her up.

Amazingly enough, soaking her blistered and burnt feet in the cool muck all night had served to soothe that sting which had kept her from walking. Kalin for a moment thought to assuage her other injuries now that she could see, but decided against it when her eyes again found Maedhros’ quiescent features. This moment was to be cherished: her hand resting against his steadily beating heart, his arms still strong around her even in his slumped posture, the look of a tranquil man upon his chiseled face.

A cool draft leftover from the night’s storm blew through her wet clothes and Kalin could not repress the chill that shivered through her, unintentionally waking up the soaked elf above her. His weary eyes opened and surveyed the perimeter around them instinctively before those clouded emeralds settled on her sweet, slough-smeared face. His striking smile made her heart flutter to be the recipient, and she smiled softly in return, carefully brushing her palm against his brow and temple where some of the dirt gave way to the action. A deep chuckle resonated through his chest and broadened their smiles as he brought a hand to her face, also, gently wiping the mess off her chin and just above her gem-like eyes.

Mîrluiniel closed her eyes to allow him easier access, not expecting him to take advantage of such a state by kissing each fluttering lid affectionately. Her breath caught as he nuzzled her cheek endearingly and then pulled back enough to focus their gazes upon one another. His hand stayed near her ear and jaw, fingers just barely teasing the sensitive lobe as her hand gripped the collar of his doublet. Maedhros glanced quickly at her rosy lips and slowly lowered to touch them with his own, encouraged as she opened them to grant his tentative admission. Her hand slid into his hair and pulled him closer into the kiss, deepening their first taste of each other.

Once they parted a beautiful silence encompassed them, only the drizzle of rain interrupting the beauty of their moment. Maedhros marveled at her; the yielding mouth that had met his so pleasurably, her crystal-blue eyes that glistened in admiration, her lithe figure that fit perfectly against him both last night and this moment. He had never experienced such ardent regard for any creature before her. The fog of their combined breath flushed their cheeks further in the cool morning air, adding a delightful color to the complexion they each studied intently upon the other.

After some time, Mîrluiniel seemed to remember herself and blushed, averting her eyes for only a moment before they returned to him. “What do we do now?” She asked softly with a ready smile and he realized that this was her first kiss. But then, was it not _his_ , also?

He grinned and touched her neck chastely, finding a smudge of soot that would not wipe off. “If I knew the realm to which you belonged, I would seek your family’s permission to court you…”

Shaking her head, though with a peaceful expression, Kalin refused to give way. “I don’t want to go back there. Not when I’m here with you.”

He sighed in resignation, but at the same time could not be disheartened, for he knew _she_ would not deny his request of courtship. Maedhros tilted his head and adopted a more serious air, pleasantly surprising her with the ardor in his piercing green eyes. “Kalin… my _lady_ , would you do me the honor of receiving me with the intention of courtship?” Mîrluiniel basked in the glow of that instant; conscious to the fact that this was the most significant point they had reached together.

Her smile graced him in all her happiness and she nodded, twirling a piece of hair at the nape of his neck. “I would.” He laughed briefly for the joy swelling within him and pulled her closer to kiss eagerly, drinking up the light that emanated from her purer spirit. Suddenly all the obstacles he had placed between them no longer mattered, because they did not matter to _her_. She overlooked every fault, empathized with his scars for she tasted his pain. In all sincerity at that moment, holding her, not one of his wounds gave him any of the discomfort that regularly plagued him.

He cradled her lovingly in his grasp, grateful for this balm he had been blessed with at last, after so many years of pain. “Is there anything I can do to aid your hurts? Surely you are not unscathed from such an ordeal as last night…”

Calmly, she responded in the negative, too joyous to regard her minor injuries at that time. “I was little harmed, and they can wait to be treated once we return. They are not urgent.” The damp elleth assured him as she pulled his mouth to hers once again in exploration. He kissed her most willingly, but brought his hand down her leg as they did so and met with the open gash on her calf; unfortunately unaided in its healing, as her feet had been helped, by the mud encompassing it.

Her flinch as he came in contact with it betrayed her and he furrowed his brow in concern, breaking their sweet exchange. “I would rather _this_ not wait, Kalin.” Her eyes closed and she nodded obediently as he set her against the tree and turned her leg sideways to better see the increasingly infected tear. “I should have wrapped this last night, it’s caked with dirt.” With a frown at his lack of prevention, he let her go a moment and sat on his heels, pulling his tunic out from his belts and taking off the shirts he wore, exposing pale skin and the multitude of bright and faded scars enhanced by the wet of his flesh.

Mîrluiniel watched him with interest before he put back on the outer doublet and took the thinner shirt to rinse in the rain outside the tree’s protection. Returning to her, he knelt at her feet and lifted the leg to rest in his lap, giving him access to gently clean the long cut. “A tree branch did not inflict this.” He spoke knowingly and looked up to her with perceptive eyes, continuing to wipe away the slough.

“The _yrch_ , they began shooting their arrows into the tree to find me… I didn’t move, I thought they might leave if they thought I wasn’t there…”

“For their infinite imperfections, they do have a sense of smell… especially for our kind. They knew you were there.” He remarked from far too much experience and touched her ankle with his right arm, comforting her through the memory of last night. “Your choice was well-made. Had you chosen to run…” He closed his eyes momentarily, denying that she could have been killed. “I dare not think what harms could have found you upon the ground.”

He felt her grow uncomfortable understood why when she began hesitantly. “Maedhros, surely you know, but I am so sorry about Vant… I should have stayed him and he would not be gone now.”

He did not like to see her distressed brow and let go of his jerkin to hold her hand. “It was not your duty to protect Taurvantian. You could not have taken him up the tree with you, his duty was to defend _you_ , and that he did. I am glad he was with you.” She squeezed his hand and smiled difficultly in thanks. Seeing her need for a change of topic, Maedhros returned to her leg and held it so that she might see. “Have I cleaned it well enough?” Her healer eyes critiqued the wound and frowned at remnants of grit that remained. Noticing her expression duly, he explained. “If I wash it further, here, I know it will give you more pain.”

“Perhaps there is running water nearby? That’s the only way I can truly remove the dirt. If there is any of that left, I will indeed have more pain.” With a nod, he stood tall above her and faced southeast with a deep breath. His whistle was clear and strong, not harmful, but calling. He stood waiting for a few moments, and soon Kalin smiled when hoof-falls reached her ears. _Rúnyadal_. The blazing sable stallion tossed his long mane in the wet air as he galloped toward his master and pranced to a stop.

Maedhros turned then back to her and bent down to scoop her up securely. He laid her upon Rúnya with little effort and climbed atop behind her, his right arm holding her waist to him as his left took the reins. Proudly, Kalin held his arm close to her and leaned against him as he trotted the animal smoothly through the rain and woods. Purposefully, he avoided the charred tree and yrch bodies of last night, conscious not to subject her to unwelcome memories again.

Maedhros found he enjoyed the feeling of her presence touching his more and more. She soothed him even when he thought his fëa was calm. Was _this_ happiness? He had not felt it in so long, he could not remember.

“What are you pondering? You’ve gone quiet.” Kalin asked him gently as they passed along under trees and through muddy mosses.

He readjusted his grip around her more comfortably and she was pleased to feel him smile. “I was thinking of you, and your effects on me.”

She turned and looked at him, glowing through the dirt that still marred her hair and neck from during the night. “ _Good_ effects, I hope?”

He halted Rúnyadal slowly and gazed down at her in admiration. “Only good.” His murmur was deep and close as he turned her head up only a little to kiss her lovingly, holding her with a tender embrace. Maedhros adored the flutter of her snowflake lashes as she opened her eyes and smiled serenely. The loud bubbling of a flooded creek interrupted their sweet moment and Rúnya pawed the ground in anticipation of a cool drink. “We can clean up, here. It’s a clear freshet, and there should be no clouds in the water.” He informed her as the stallion was guided onward and she managed to get one more kiss from him before he straightened and colored slightly.

Mîrluiniel was pleased when he carried her down, to see that the stream was indeed clear and un-sullied, perfect for washing out a wound and cleaning the mire from her skin. Reluctantly, Maedhros let her down to limp unsteadily to the grassy shore and kneel, propping her foot on a smooth rock below the surface. The frigid water stung slightly, but at length numbed her pain, and she tentatively ran her fingers along the shallow gash, coaxing out the grime with a grimace of discomfort.

Maedhros took off his boots and sword-belt not far downstream from her and waded into the middle of the current, a good flood as it was up to his knees. Kalin watched as he again took off his shirt and knelt down in the depth of water to wash the mud from it. With part of it tucked in his arm, he rung the clothing dry and tossed it to the gravel shore beside his boots before bowing his head into the cold stream, exposing his bare back and muscle structure, then whipping up to sling long red hair against his back. The elleth liked the look of him doing such a thing, but also thought it would feel good to do so, herself, as she was already soaked through.

Testing, Mîrluiniel stood in the shallows and tried to walk with burnt feet on river-rock, unsuccessful as the jabbing stones tripped her to fall forward and splash in the current. Maedhros had looked up at that moment and rushed to her side immediately, pulling out a sputtering maiden, laughter in her smile. “Are you all right?” He furrowed his flaming brow in concern, whereas _she_ was closer to mirth.

Nodding, Kalin grasped his strong shoulder for balance and was careful not to put all her weight on her injured soles. With an amused giggle, she answered him and inquired. “I am, thank you. Could you hold my arm for a moment, please? I want to rinse out my hair.”

The captain nodded. “I won’t let you fall.” He assured her with conviction and took her left arm to hold securely as she dipped her head under. It was a moment before she came up with a roll of her head, her soft white-blonde hair pooling over her shoulder and down her back.

Blinking the water from her eyes, she opened them to his mesmerized expression and smiled with a blush, averting her gaze for a few seconds to the rain droplets splashing in the water. When she looked back he was smiling also, that perfectly angular grin that became him so well. “I can go further down stream if you wish to wash your dress…” He stopped when a flash of distress passed over her eyes and he watched her try to quell it.

“Could you stay… please? I don’t have to clean this, it is stained already.”

He nodded and helped her, at length carrying her, to the shore. “Of course. I would rather not let you out of my sight, in any case.” His assurance visibly eased her as he set her onto the green shore, her feet still submerged in the cool freshet. Maedhros retrieved his sword, shirt, and boots from the beach downstream and returned to sit at her side, pulling on the dark leather footwear and wrapped the laces around intricate mithril buttons. “How is your leg?” He asked as his doublet was pulled awkwardly back on and situated. Kalin turned her calf so that he could better view it. It was closely inspected.

“Do you still have your tunic? I would like to wrap it.” Obligingly, he took the wet cloth and handed it to her, watching as she rinsed the mud out of it thoroughly and doubled it around her left forearm, wringing it dry in her own way.

“Here, let me help you.” He offered and aided her with his left hand to wrap and tie the fabric about her leg, thereby protecting the gash.

“Thank you.” She gave him her lovely smile and he returned it without conscious thought. Mîrluiniel considered herself blessed beyond measure to be courted by this gallant elf. Yes, he had faults, but did not everyone? Maedhros had just had many terrible circumstances thrown at him. She could not forgive all of his _actions_ , for those he was not _forced_ to do, but if he was repentant of them, as she believed him to be, she could forgive _him_. At this point, her only fear was that he could not forgive himself. Looking at him in that moment, however, his eyes peaceful and steady, she had al the hope in Arda for him.

“Kalin…” His deep voice spoke her name tenderly, leaning closer and glancing to her lips. Before he could continue, a noise alerted him to movement across the creek and a dark wariness passed over his eyes as they scanned the trees. Fear gripped the maiden again and she helped him look but to no avail. Turning to her seriously, he murmured with a quiet urgency. “I don’t like this. We should leave, now.” Anxiously, she nodded and watched him quickly buckle his sword belt before lifting her and whistling Rúnyadal over with a common birdcall.

They walked for a little while to remain silent in case they had not been seen before then, to Mîrluiniel’s relief, finally galloping through the forests on their way back to Himring. “What do you think?” She asked him after feeling they had ridden a safe distance off.

He frowned, obviously still considering it, himself. “It could have been a few that broke off of your group of attackers. These signs are not good.” He paused and glanced at her troubled expression. “It could also have been a bear coming for a drink, there is a chance it was not yrch.” His attempt to console her failed utterly. “There’s no need to worry, now, Kalin. We should be back within the walls e’er the sun sets.” With a nod, she leaned against him wordlessly and seemed to calm once his arm was pulled closer about her waist.

They were quiet as he cantered them easily home, a steady rhythm marrying between Rúnya’s gait and the continuous rain. Kalin fell asleep on his shoulder as they went on, deprived from their restless night during the storm. Even when wet, her snow-blonde hair curled sweetly against her brow and all along the length that lay upon his chest. He remembered the first time he had touched her hair, almost laying on her deathbed, thanks to him. Pressing his lips to her slumbering crown, he swore he would never allow anything within his power to so endanger her life.

At last he saw his proud fort sitting high upon Himring’s hill and he slowed Rúnyadal to a calm walk to enjoy the last moments of ‘solitude’ with Kalin, unconscious though she was. When they entered the keep at last, Maglor rushed limping out to them, closely followed by Remethiel and her husband as Maedhros turned the maiden sideways and held her close to his chest with his dismount. Sleepily, the elleth wrapped her arms around his neck and showed the elves around them that she was indeed alive.

“Is she all right? What happened?” His brother and friends questioned the eldest Fëanorian as they passed through the halls to Kalin’s room.

“Remethiel, could you bring some healing supplies for a small wound on her leg and minor burns that need treatment? I thank you.” Maedhros calmly requested, being met by an exclamation at the mention of ‘burns,’ but was quickly obeyed by the elleth with a ‘yes, my lord,’ as she hurried off to retrieve the materials. Mornefindon asked his lord if there was anything he could do and was politely declined, free to go to his children who waited for news of their ‘aunt’ Kalin.

Now that Maglor, alone, was left with the rescued and rescuer, the second-born allowed himself to inquire after the different manner in which his brother optimistically conducted himself. “What happened, Maedhros? I’ve never seen your demeanor so lifted.” Gently, the flame-haired elf laid his burden soaking upon her dry bed, only briefly glancing to his brother as Remethiel returned with the appropriate wrappings and another elleth healer to assist.

“My lords, could you please leave us so that we may clean her up and get her dry?” The siblings nodded and removed themselves respectfully, continuing to Maedhros’ chambers so that he could also exchange his dripping garments for some warmer ones.

Maglor crossed his arms and persisted. “What _is_ it, my brother?”

He grinned as Maedhros volunteered a smile. “Kalin has granted me permission to court her.”

The younger elf laughed joyously for him and grasped the elf in a hug, regardless of any filthy clothing meshing now to his. “I’m _proud_ of you, Maitimo! There could not be in existence a finer woman for your temper.” They shared a look of understanding before Maglor laughed again and encouraged his brother to join him. “ _Come_ , tell me everything!” Fëanor’s second son soon learned all that had happened the night before, and _most_ , but certainly not _all_ , of what had transpired that very morning.

“Our problems with the enemy are increasing, and they give me little ease.” Maedhros remarked soberly.

“From what we’ve tracked and encountered, their numbers have not exceeded twenty.”

“Twenties can swiftly turn to hundreds, my brother, as well you and I know.”

Grimly, the younger of them nodded, recalling especially the ‘treaty’ attack only just before Maedhros’ capture by Morgoth’s servants. A glance to his brother’s missing hand pierced his conscience with the memory. A memory he would not have repeated. He volunteered a precautionary idea. “I think we should send for aid. Celegorm and Curufin are well where they are, for now. I do think it is time, perhaps, that Amras and Amrod return to Himring. Being in the east, they may have more knowledge of yrch movements should they have encountered any.”

“Last I recall they still had some thirty followers from when they drafted our younger wardens. They may be in Thargelion by now for their gaming hunt.” Maedhros added in agreement with his brother’s suggestion and nodded decisively, looking to his second in command in unspoken confirmation. “Dispatch riders, Maglor. I will spare two, take your swiftest from the waiting shift for the Marches and send them after our youngest kin.” The second eldest rose from his seat formally but gave his brother’s square jaw a familiar flick with a wink before departing from the room.

With a sigh mixed between being content and disturbed, Maedhros sank into his chair wearily and rubbed his sleep-deprived eyes before closing them for a blessed moment. A nervously persistent knock on the door interrupted his short-lived nap, however, and he pushed himself from the seat with a beckon for the knocker to enter.

Hesitantly, the thick wood was pushed open from its position, as it was ajar, and Eäryendë barely stepped upon his threshold to convey her message. “My lord, Kalin has awakened and asks if you would come to her.” Reacting quickly, Maedhros thanked her and immediately began toward his lady’s rooms, causing the healer elleth to smile knowingly as he passed her by. Finishing a hasty braid on his way, he entered the maiden’s chambers with a gentle knock and smiled as her entire countenance brightened at the sight of him.

“You left me while I was asleep.” She admonished him teasingly, smoothing her hand over the dry linen smock that now clothed her. He sat in the chair at her side, pulling it closer now that he had the insurance of a closed door to guard them. “And I was very _unpleasantly_ awakened by Eäryendë giving me stitches.” She murmured with a pout before he leaned in and kissed it from her lips.

“I’m sorry, Kalin. By _remaining_ , I may have trespassed upon our courtship by seeing you… unveiled.” He kissed her blushing cheek with a similarly warm smile before turning to her uncovered calf and touching it gently to examine the sutured wound. Maedhros loathed to have allowed another injury to scar her beauty and sent a silent prayer to Elbereth that any scar would not long remain, for the elleth’s sake.

Mîrluiniel studied him attentively and wondered at his reaction, deciding to ask him. “Does it bother you, Maedhros?”

He looked to her with some shame and admitted. “It bothers me to see you _harmed_ , and to know that I could have prevented it from being so.”

Her hand found his arm and she shook her head. “Maedhros, do not judge your actions by what you have _not_ done. Had you not come when you did, I know for certain I would not have escaped alive. As it is, I am hardly hurt at all. Promise me that you will not blame yourself for it.” She beseeched him earnestly and he smiled a little at her desire to free him from guilt.

Taking her hand and squeezing it, he told her. “I will _try_ , dear one, but I cannot promise that to you.” He nearly made her forget everything said aside from those sweet words, ‘dear one.’ It seemed that they reaffirmed everything that had happened between them, she knew she would cherish this day for that.

Kalin admired the exhaustion in his keen emerald eyes, for she knew how little he had slept in order to keep her safe and consoled the night before. “You are weary, will you not sleep?”

He closed his eyes with a smile and pressed her hand to his lips. “I was near to it, my lady, when you summoned me hence.”

Her soft laughter and cooing brightened his smile and she slid back to the other side of the bed, pulling the covers over herself and patting the empty furs on his side. “Come, if I am under and you are over the blankets, then no one can fuss. Rest your head by mine.” She beckoned to him sweetly and, in only partial reluctance, he stood from his chair and laid himself belly-down beside her, his arms folded beneath a head turned to face her. Affectionately, she stroked his burning red hair and unbraided the wet mane to more easily thread her fingers through it. Exhaustion finally claimed them both, Mîrluiniel’s hand resting upon the strength of his shoulder with several strands of his straight hair wrapped around her fingers.

When she awoke, her protector had gone, but in her hand was bound a small crimson braid of hair from his nape for her to hold in his absence.


	12. It Opens Your Heart

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 12** /?

 **Chapter Summary:** _“_ _You are my strength and my weakness… you are my jewel,_ mîr nin _.” She blushed through his declamation and reddened further at how close he had come to unknowingly revealing her given name with the new endearment._

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. ಠ_ಠ

 

Mîrluiniel was soon informed that the population in Himring was about to swell a little more, with the addition of long gone sons and brothers who had followed the ‘Ambarussa’ to east Beleriand some years before.

Maedhros told her of his two youngest siblings, whom their mother had jointly named first, _Ambarussa_ , the twins Amrod and Amras. “They can be difficult to tell apart, for they each have always called the other, Ambarussa.” Maedhros explained to her with a smirk she knew to be triggered from fond memories. “Eventually, you will learn their personalities, but until then it is their _eyes_.” He revealed the secret to her and she reveled in his confidence. “Amras’ eyes are much lighter in color, though it may not immediately be noticeable, and Amrod’s are the deeper grey.”

It was a day or two before the skin grew hale upon her feet again, and Kalin delighted that Maedhros took time from each of these days to see her expressly. Even in the days afterward when difficult horses or scouting and messages kept him occupied, he would seek her out and accompany her to the walls or stables to talk until a late hour.

Often would he try to encourage her speaking of her own family and previous home, but she still evaded many such inquiries, though more weakly as their attachment grew stronger. “Do you truly wish to return me to my family, to _separate_ you and I? If I revealed this to you, is that not what would happen, Maedhros?” Kalin replied to him after his latest query of her people and he sighed, reflecting in thought now that circumstances had changed between them.

Now he no longer wished to send her away, no matter that he was keeping her from her homeland by allowing her to remain. “Why have they not searched for you? You have been gone above a _decade_ , now. Could they have known where you were?”

Sighing, Kalin knew she must give him _something_ , as he had shared with her almost everything she’d ever asked of _him_. She fingered Rúnyadal’s long mane, as they were in the great charger’s horse-stall, and gave the prince more of what information she had. “My family has been used to these wanderings since my coming of age. My fëa seemed never tied securely to my homeland and I would roam where I pleased with my horse and bow for long periods of time. But I had never ventured so far as I had when Celegorm found me.” Maedhros regarded her silently as she divulged this new history and encouraged her with his looks when she faltered. “I do not doubt that they _have_ looked for me, for I was never away longer than two years together. But they surely do not know where to search. They would not think me to go this far where I have never been before.” She met his eye after her fingers had woven a pretty braid in the stallion’s pitch mane.

“It is clear to me, Kalin, that you do love your family. That is why it puzzles me as to why you are so strong in your desire _not_ to return to them.”

“I wish to remain here because I know what _awaits_ me there. This…” She held up her left arm. “This would cause them _grief_ , which is precisely opposite of _my_ feelings about it. There I would be suffocated with ‘care’ and ‘protection’ from them, and I would not risk their ire by telling them my life was _saved_ by the removal of this hand. They would seek guerdon and misunderstand my reasons for remaining here so long.” Her head shook in agitation. “Where I have freedom and acceptance, _here_ , I would be restricted and out of place there for my ‘ _disability._ ’”

Maedhros contemplated these reasons and agreed that at least _here_ he had tempered the people to be used to one with a missing arm. But surely she would not wish to sever _all_ ties and forfeit that life in place of a life with him. Sadly, he knew it must turn to an ultimatum in her situation. ‘My blood is not loved by the Sindar, and Kalin could never be connected with me while still receiving welcome from her family.’ A foreboding thought came to him and it fisted a knot in the pit of his stomach. Eventually she _must_ return _._ He didn’t want to lose her.

His lady’s fair hand touched and roused him from where his mind had strayed and she called him back gently. “Maedhros, what is it?” He met her beautiful blue gems and almost forced a smile when a true one quickly supplanted it as he had a revelation. His mother’s words rushed through his mind. ‘ _Not all jewels are made of stone, my son. Learn from your father and keep_ your _gems close at hand.’_ Kalin was _his_ Silmaril; her eyes, which at the beginning he had tried to describe within himself, were beautiful and bright gems. She was his _mîr_ , his _jewel_.

Kalin watched this change of emotion play clearly through his green eyes and delighted when their focus came to her and they deepened in color. He turned to her completely and took her hand to press against his chest, strengthening their connection. “Maedhros…? Have you come to some conclusion?” She could only guess in pleasant surprise by his forward actions.

His large hand caressed her temple and cheek reverently, catching a curl of hair to brush away. “When you tell me from where you have come, I will do the right thing and return you there. But as you will not, I would have you dwell _here_ … with _me_.” Her eyes shone happily up to him and he continued. “Kalin, never have I seen more beautiful eyes as crystal blue as yours, nor a heart so pure in any elleth. You are my strength and my weakness… you are my _jewel_ , mîr nin.” She blushed through his declamation and reddened further at how close he had come to unknowingly revealing her given name with the new endearment.

Relaxing as he drew nearer to her, she welcomed his mouth upon her and kissed him as deeply as his lips took hers. Sliding her arms up around his neck, Maedhros pulled her closer to him by the waist and tilted his head to further delight in her taste. How had he withdrawn himself from her for so long? At that moment, he didn’t know if he could ever live without her again. He released her flushed mouth reluctantly and pressed his face into her fair neck, relishing the feel of her pulse thudding against his lips.

Mîrluiniel hugged him to her with a peaceful smile and fingered through his enflamed hair familiarly. She loved this elf. In her heart, she knew this love could never be surpassed. Pulling away at length and kissing him once more, Kalin lingered close when his emerald eyes captured hers. He carefully brushed her sensitive ear with sword-worn fingers and breathed. “ _Mîr_ _nin_ …”

“I think he’s in _love_ with that maiden!” The two lovers turned quickly round and Maedhros instinctively moved in front of her for protection.

“I think you are right. _Look_ , Ambarussa, they’ve been embracing!” Two very like elves mounted upon flighty animals jested between themselves before trotting off and away from their brother’s wrath. They could not escape the stables, however, before Maedhros took hold of a heavy horse brush and aimed it accurately, smiting the back of one of their necks with a sure ‘thud.’

Giggling against the wall of Rúnyadal’s stall, Kalin watched her beau return to her with a growl and succeeded in putting a smile on his face before he took her in his arms again. “In case you missed them, _those_ were my youngest brothers.”

She nodded, grinning beautifully, and received his uninterrupted kiss before she decided they should part. “I’m going to freshen up before dinner. I’ll see my lord soon.” She teased him with the formality and tugged a strand of his hair before walking away, calling over her shoulder. “Don’t go _too_ hard on them, Maedhros. There was little harm in their jest.” With a subdued smirk, the warrior watched her go until she turned into the main hall at last and he scratched Rúnya’s alert ears, absently bidding the horse good-bye before turning himself in the opposite direction to greet Ambarussa _properly._

“Maedhros! Come, the twins have arrived sooner than expected. Where have you been?” Maglor addressed his eldest brother and subtly noticed the youngest siblings cringe as he passed them both and came to stand by the second son.

The tallest of them enjoyed the fearful respect Amrod and Amras granted him in payment for their earlier hazing. Nonchalantly, he replied. “I was previously employed. I saw them ride in.”

“Well, go on, clean yourselves of the journey’s dust. Dinner will be served in an hour.” Maglor pulled on Amrod’s braid as they turned away to their customary rooms, then turned to his captain with crossed arms. “‘Previously _employed_?’ They caught you with Kalin, did they?” The brunette Fëanorian could not help but laugh and Maedhros only smirked in self-assurance.

“Only just before one of them-- Amras, I believe-- received a grooming tool in the back in a shocking accident… Their retreat wasn’t quite swift enough.” The brothers laughed once this information was revealed and went to their respective quarters to prepare for evening.

 

The sons of Fëanor stood near the long feasting tables set up for Ambarussa’s men and their families, talking of mundane things as they waited for all the food to be placed. Maedhros’ eye was drawn eventually to movement under a fair white head at one end of the room, his heart trembling pleasantly in anticipation of meeting that crystalline gaze. This gift was soon granted him and, with an artless smile, Kalin approached, gracefully weaving through acquaintances new and old as she politely addressed each on her way.

His keen eyes never left her and he admiringly critiqued her dress; a floor-length satin brown skirt wrapped flatteringly about her waist and kept a loose-fitting blouse of pale green tucked within. The neckline opened along the top of her shoulders, displaying her fair collarbone and neck, neither ornamented with jewelry. He could not make himself sorry for the lack of adornment, however, for in his view her beauty already outshone a thousand diamonds resting under Laurelin’s glory.

At last, she came to them and curtsied elegantly before being introduced to the last of her suitor’s brothers. Ambarussa bowed to her in turn, looking identical except their riding garb and their telling eyes that Maedhros had earlier hinted toward. The eldest among the kindred took responsibility for necessary introductions, taking her hand with a regard that Mîrluiniel could feel in more ways than one. “Ambarussa, this is _Kalin_. My lady, these are my youngest brothers: Amrod, and Amras.”

Each took her hand and kissed it chastely, their similar eyes glinting with a mischievous gaiety at the core of each. “It is a pleasure to meet you, fair one.” Amras greeted with compliments. Light grey, yes, this was Amras.

“Most assuredly, a _great_ pleasure as we had not long away thought to lose all hope for Maedhros’ capabilities in ‘wooing’ as sweet an elleth as yourself.” Amrod visibly flinched away from his oldest brother’s reprimanding look, but Kalin smiled and blushed appropriately.

Amras rubbed the back of his neck pointedly and elbowed his twin, joking to Kalin, though everyone could hear equally. “My good brother has not as yet received his ‘lesson’ against teasing the two of you as _I_ have, my dear lady.” With a shared laugh, she glanced to Maedhros and delighted further to see him also chuckling with them.

Dinner was called to order shortly and everyone took his or her seats. Maedhros sat at the head of the table they occupied, Mîrluiniel conveniently at his left, Maglor on his right. Ambarussa sat across from each other, one at the elleth’s side, and the other next to Maglor. Kalin made perfect first impressions upon Fëanor’s twins throughout the meal, and was fondly teased and complimented the whole evening.

After everyone had finished eating, yet remained in conversation, Maglor stood and procured a guitar-like instrument to play as he sang a lively tune, encouraging those who were inclined to dance. Amrod, who was so inclined, dared to steal Kalin away from his brother and carried her off for a reel. Amras situated himself a seat closer to Maedhros and shared his view of the stepping couples, smiling more thoughtfully toward his sibling. “What has changed you, my brother? I thought you resolved never to give your love.”

With eyes focused expressly upon his jewel’s delightful dancing poise, Maedhros answered, though only partially. “She tempers me. When I am ill at ease, she calms me. She is pure, and full of candor… I would give all our father’s jewels for her, if I could.”

Amras smirked knowingly with a raised auburn brow in feigned surprise, especially at the last statement. “So you would treasure her above even the precious Silmarilli? I know well the difficulty of such a task, Maitimo.” The eldest pressed his lips into a firm line at the memory of their departure from Tirion. Their dear mother had begged Fëanor to let one child remain with her, her youngest son, Amras. Later, the twin had divulged to his brother that, had not the ships been burnt at Losgar, he would have taken one and returned to Nerdanel to bring comfort. “Has Naneth spoken to you?” The youngest inquired calmly, as if they could contact her at will.

Maedhros turned to his ‘little’ brother and furrowed his brows. “She’s come to you, also?”

Amras nodded somberly, but with a slight smile at the thought of their mother. “Not as frequently as I should like, but when my longing for her will not subside, I sometimes feel her hand in my hair. She has spoken to me only once, and ‘twas in a dream.”

“She had never visited me before Celegorm brought Kalin, and my heart came to such conflict over her presence. I have felt her touch both waking and in my dreams. She gave me the advice and push I needed to release some of my largest inhibitions for courting Kalin. I am indebted to her forever for that, alone.”

Amras put a hand on the fiery one’s shoulder and squeezed familiarly. “May Eru bless you both. I shall expect _many_ nieces and nephews from your union.” He added the last with an impish grin and suggestive raise of his eyebrows before Maedhros shoved him, returning to the more jovial air that filled the room.

Willingly allowing her partners to find other ellith to dance with, Kalin returned to her seat by Maedhros and took a drink of her mead. She knew better than to ask him to dance, conscious that he would do so when he chose, and that made such occasions all the more special. Her Noldo smiled in adoration of her brightened cheeks, her skin glowing from the activity of dancing. Beneath the table, he sought her hand and laced her delicate fingers between his, Mîrluiniel’s stroking gently in a subtle display of her love. “What was Amras saying?”

He looked at her a moment longer and replied evasively. “I confess I was hardly paying him any mind, for my attentions were focused solely upon _you_. I’ve resolved that you will never claim a partner to match your grace, let alone surpass you in skill.”

With a tempting caress to his inner wrist, she let loose his hand and took up her glass again, parrying. “I believe I’ve _already_ claimed that partner for a very few dances some time ago… and that elf particularly told me we would return to see the off-spring of your stallion before they are full-grown.” Pointedly, she teased him and glanced up to meet his gaze over the rim of her goblet, the contents of which failing miserably to cool the heat that trailed over her from the blaze of his emerald eyes, causing her heart to race.

“My lady has found out part of tomorrow’s _surprise_. I was going to tell you tonight.”

Kalin’s eyes lit up excitedly and, putting down her mead, revealed her beautiful smile. “ _Thank_ you, Maedhros. I thought tomorrow you would be in meetings with your brothers, now that they are come.”

He sighed, but did not relinquish the smile that reflected her happiness. “From mid-day to Telperion’s noon, I’m certain I _shall_ be. But we shall rise early and have plenty of time to enjoy.” He assured her and brought her hand to his lips, turning it and placing a kiss in her palm with his gaze locked upon hers.

She blushed crimson, to his delight. “I look forward to it, my lord.”

 

Granted, Maedhros was more prone to smiles and laughter lately in public, but Mîrluiniel _lived_ in the moments she could enjoy with him alone. He talked more freely of his opinions and desires, laughed easily, and was guarded only by his own chivalry in his actions toward her, not decorum.

He let her ride beside him upon Rúnyadal while he took a young chestnut mare, green and unused to riding trails alongside other horses. Proudly, Maedhros watched his lady sitting comfortably upon the animal, guiding him, but not commanding unnecessarily. Flashing him a grin once the ridge came into view, Kalin urged the stallion to leap forward in a gallop up the hill, encouraging Maedhros to chase such laughter that echoed happily in her wake. Laughing himself, he gave his horse her head and spoke Quenyan hastily to the less experienced animal, heartening her swift hooves to fly.

With her head start and admirable steed, Kalin reached the top first and had time enough to unbridle Rúnya and set him free, running away up into the boulders before her beau rode speedily up and did the same. Her skin tingled as she heard him closing in on her and she squealed when he caught her by the waist to turn her abruptly against him. Seizing her clear eyes, they stood breathless for some moments while the newly risen sun warmed their already flushed cheeks. “Maedhros…” He watched his name leave her lips in a sigh before his mouth descended upon hers and strong arms encircled her firmly.

Something changed within them as they embraced, and they parted panting harder for breath than before, their eyes intensely searching one another’s for answers. In the split-second of their lips pressing together, the vision they had both experienced separately was experienced in the same moment, together. “Did, did you feel that? Did you _see_ it?” Kalin ventured to ask first and was met by his reluctant gaze and nod, his arms releasing her as he turned away.

“I did. I have seen _and_ felt it, many times before…”

She approached him. “As have _I_. Though it has been some time since last I experienced it in such a way.”

He turned to her, stunned. “ _What_? How long have you seen it?”

“In _this_ form? Since I first came to Himlad after my attack.” He passed a hand over his eyes in a troubled manner and she came to put her hand on his arm, meeting his gaze as supportively as she could. “What do you think this means?”

He sighed. “It confirms to me that this vision _shall_ come to pass… and there is nothing I hate more than to admit it.” He looked away a moment, and then back to her. “Kalin, tell me exactly what you saw.”

She didn’t have to recall long before obediently relating to him all she knew: their tearful kiss, his sword, the fire, her calling for him, and the nameless elf pulling her away. Maedhros’ eyes fell in resignation. They were the same, his vision and her own. Concerned, but not yet distraught, Mîrluiniel tried to reassure her lord. “Maedhros, we still do not know _how_ things will play out. The dream did not show either of us being harmed… and though I would never leave you willingly, it may not be a _permanent_ separation.”

“But if you are taken, or go of your own will, to where I _believe_ you will… I might never have you again without dire consequences accompanying my arrival.” She watched him curiously as he said this, furrowing her golden-white brows when he waved it off. “Never mind. Do not heed what I say in haste, mîr nin.” He swiftly put on a façade of calm and took her hand, seeking to distract her from the foreboding thoughts he had mistakenly exposed.

As he led her down the hill to the grazing herd below, a thought and possible explanation came to Mîrluiniel’s mind, but she withheld it. Willing to set it aside for now, the maiden wanted to enjoy this morning with him while he was able yet to think of other things, himself. At last she saw some genuine emotion on Maedhros’ face when they came to where the horses munched on their breakfast, and she delighted with him to see young colts prancing and chasing each other around their complacent mothers.

Kalin started to sing gently and approached the beautiful animals to stroke and grow familiar with them, young ones hesitantly coming forward to explore her legs and bare feet with the curiosity of new life. Maedhros watched her peacefully receiving attention from a tall roan mare, the strawberry-colored animal nuzzling and nipping at her hair as a blue roan foal tugged on the elleth’s skirt. The Fëanorian was brought out of his daze by his own stallion’s head resting on his shoulder from behind, his ears forward toward Kalin and the mare while his eye studied his master closely.

Chuckling, Maedhros reached up and rubbed the creature’s attentive ears, alert with the sound of his love’s song. “What will I do without her, Rúnya?” The elf spoke quietly, sadly. “Every part of her calms me from my deepest rage. If she is not with me, I fear what I may do.” In response, the large horse bowed his head so that when it rose, his master’s hand was upon his neck. The action brought only an afflicted smile to his lips, but then piercing green eyes rose to meet a set of fair blue that watched him, and true joy touched his face.

Leaving his mount to do as he would, Maedhros walked to the object of his desire and placed his hand over hers where it lay upon the mare’s strong neck. Kalin moved their hands to rest on her right side and pulled him favorably into a kiss filled with love and comfort. In that moment, the Noldo knew nothing could be more beautiful than this creature, and his eyes related as much to her as they parted.

Having reached up to stroke his face, Mîrluiniel spoke what she felt he needed to hear from her now. “With all my heart, I meant what I said to you, Maedhros. I will never willingly leave you.”

His kindled brows lowered in consideration as he replied. “I know.” Again, the possibility came to her mind as it had moments ago, but she chose not to address it presently and distress him further. Its mention would only stir up pointless strife between them, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Her eyes then turned to the mare standing beside them and Kalin caught Maedhros’ reminiscent smile in the corner of her sight. “She seems familiar, somehow.” His maiden remarked, deepening his smile.

“She should. Carendiel is Rúnyadal’s mother.”

A pleased laugh escaped the elleth’s mouth and she questioned. “But they look so little alike! Is it true?”

Nodding, Maedhros moved to appraise the majestic horse with expert eyes. “You can see that they carry themselves in much the same way, both of height, and their eyes hold the same intelligence. Rúnya’s sire was pure black; my stallion simply inherited his mother’s _distribution_ of color. See, she also is darker upon her mane, tail, and legs.”

Kalin admired his knowledge and thoughtful appreciation of the horse and moved closer to give him her praise. “You are a talented breeder, my lord. I have never seen such attention given to the benefit of a creature.”

He turned and kissed her tenderly. “With one word from your lips, I would bestow all my attention to _your_ benefit without a second thought.”

Her smile made his heart stop for a moment and as she reached up to kiss him, she answered. “And because I know how _completely_ you would keep that promise, I will never utter such a word.” Maedhros’ eyes admired the curls about her face and eased his care-worn expression into a smile. Reaching behind her, he untied the leather thong from her braid and pushed his hand into it, letting loose the naturally white hair to spill about her shoulders. Kalin looked more stunning than he thought any elf was allowed to be. He _loved_ her. The very thought both thrilled and frightened him. How could such a thing be? To love someone so totally with whom you had not grown up, nor even known longer than a quarter century? Such a thing seemed too impossible to occur, and yet there he was, gazing at the one elleth who completed his heart and gave him the _desire_ to live again.

But even with this incredible realization made now within him, could he relate it to her with even _half_ the violence of his feelings? Such a declaration required far more than the tranquil complacency that they now partook of. To declaim his love for her as he wished would urge the talk of binding herself to him in marriage, an act that, though beautiful and desirable, aroused a strike of fear to assail his chest in anticipation of uncertain futures. Maedhros was unprepared for the magnitude of _danger_ such a union would bring her and any family to come forth among their love.

In ideal environs, this doubt of whether to proceed would never have arisen in his mind. Maedhros would have professed to her his adoration and love within a fortnight of becoming reacquainted, and likely propose his offer of marriage as soon as permission could be granted from her family. How he _longed_ for an ideal situation. But in his real circumstances, the cost must be counted carefully before feelings could be allowed to express themselves. A cost that mattered little where _his_ expenses were concerned, for he would gladly take his own life if it meant Kalin could be free from every pain, but he would not risk any amount of her health and happiness to be taken. He was not ready yet to put in words his love.

Mîrluiniel’s gaze regarded him curiously in his silence and she inquired, drawing his focus back to those lovely eyes. “Maedhros? What are you thinking of?”

This innocent question inspired a yearning in him to communicate, without speech, his deeply rooted love for her. Taking her waist in a stronger grip and pulling her close against him, Maedhros took her mouth passionately with his and expressed his emotion to her in the best way he knew to do. Leaving her breathless when their lips at last disengaged, Maedhros was hardly calm himself and stroked her face as his eyes related the powerful affection he felt. “I was thinking of _this_.” Indicating the precious contact they had just made, he caused her to blush beautifully and he smiled as his mouth pressed to hers once more.

 

It came to pass as he had explained to her earlier, the meetings with his brothers lasting late into the night and on to the early morning hours before dawn. Matters of discussion turned into arguments that persisted over everything from strength in numbers on their side, security of position, to the distance in time of attacks, both imminent and supposed. The question still remained of whether or not an attack _would_ come to Himring, and if it would be of any magnitude worth preparing for. With a troubled mind and headache because of it, Maedhros finally adjourned the conference and allowed his young brothers to take rest while he remained seated in the council room.

His eyes blankly traced the maps strewn before him on the great table, all depicting different parts and landmarks of his March and lands as far as the Blue Mountains east. The parchments and skins had been gone over countless times with inks and fingers outlining tactics and strategies, maneuvers and probabilities. It was increasingly ominous the further looked upon. Their distance from allies was a concern, but the same separation was what Maedhros had accepted long ago. To keep his Fëanorian blood away from those who did not desire affiliation, and to silently defend the same elves with his precarious position on the borders of north and east. Only now it seemed there was much more at stake if the enemy’s attack _should_ occur.

His hand massaged a weary brow briefly before he leaned back his head and shut concern-wrought eyes. Within his mind it seemed an eternity of time before he awoke, greatly disturbed and tense, to see that he couldn’t have been asleep longer than an hour. In his disoriented state, he had stood so suddenly as to knock over his chair with some force and came to rights only as it finished toppling loudly on the floor. Wide-eyed and rigid, Maedhros turned his gaze to an elleth standing at the entry of the room opposite him, recognizing her fair head only after an instant.

Distressed over what he had seen in _this_ vision beyond all the others, he turned away immediately seeking to hide his face and reaction from she who was most dear. But quickly did the maiden approach and she discerned far more affliction than he could try and conceal; his trembling limbs and frantically shallow breathing betraying how close to hysterics he truly was from this apparent nightmare. Again, he sought to evade her and grasped the table before him until at last her steady touch stilled much of his movements, and his frenzied reaction calmed to miserable convulsions.

“Maedhros, shh, calm yourself… I’m _here_ , I’m right here.” Slowly crumpling to his knees, Kalin knelt with him and stroked the sweat-dampened hair from his face, his flesh burning to the touch even as the violence of his shivering continued. Shaking his head, Maedhros did what she had never seen him do… he wept. Silent though he remained, tears poured forth from harrowed emerald eyes to leave their paths down a drawn face. Moved by this poignant display of suffering in her beloved prince, Mîrluiniel also shed earnest tears to see him in such torment.

No longer consolation ready at her lips, she wordlessly wove his left fingers with her right and waited patiently at his side before, with a squeeze of her comforting hand, he took her and tucked her body into his. His fetal position around hers betrayed the vulnerability of emotion he could not hide away. While yet as soundless as a well-trained elf should be, Kalin still felt the droplets of relentless grief spill onto her head from time to time.

Whatever he had seen had been far more unsettling to him than their joined vision early in the day. With a hand on his chest, she looked up at him through her bright eyes in the torch-doused room, the distress of his expression and reddened eyes concerning her further to worry. He could hold her gaze no longer than a moment before some overwhelming shame or guilt turned his eyes downward.

Moving her hand up to hold his face and support it toward hers once more, Kalin beseeched him. “ _Please_ … Maedhros, tell me what happened.”

His jaw clenched in uncertainty and he began, his voice weathered from muted cries. “It was a dream. I…” He staggered then from reliving its horrors and his trembling began anew, terror-filled eyes glistening with tears, and he looked at her, distraught. “I cannot tell you. I beg you, ask _anything_ of me, but that.” His deep voice weakened with the plea and Kalin stroked his troubled brow soothingly.

“Maedhros, I fear if you do _not_ it will only haunt you still. And without knowledge of it, what can I do to calm your fears? Tell me what it was, or tell me what can soften your anxiety.”

With his eyes closed under her touch, the elf steadily eased his breathing and allowed her presence to relieve him of a small part of his burdens. “Sing to me, Kalin.” A broken voice requested quietly of her and, with a kiss to each eyelid, his jewel gathered him against her and began to lovingly sing the lullaby her voice had sung after his first vision in Himlad.

With her hand threading through his straight hair like his naneth had done for him as an elfling, Maedhros laid his head upon her shoulder and wrapped his arms about her waist. An occasional tremble was all that remained of his ordeal outwardly, once her constancy finally entreated him to rest once more, and Mîrluiniel could only be left puzzled and deeply concerned by what had transpired.

 


	13. When You Give Your Love Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter... at my DeviantART. ^_^
> 
> http://iluvobiwan91.deviantart.com/art/Single-Handedly-189791030?q=gallery%3Ailuvobiwan91%2F1558228&qo=15

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 13** /?

 ** _Chapter Summary:_** _“My heart is irrevocably yours, Kalin, so long as you wish to keep it.” His declaration caressed her very fëa with the truth she knew filled every word._

 **Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. ಠ_ಠ

 

The days after that dreadful early morning continued to display Maedhros, though less _violent_ in his disturbance, mentally and physically altered. Most, if not all, of his reserved and withdrawn tendencies had returned to sober his temperament, leaving Mîrluiniel to only watch in sorrow as this reversion took place. Would he come out of this depression, or was this to be her new lover? The thought troubled her more than he could know.

‘Twas nigh upon the summer months when the elves of Himring, and his brothers alike, saw their captain’s decrease in warmth and attentions toward the fair elleth, resulting in heartache on every side. After another laborious meal of seeing his brother eat no more than a morsel of food, Maglor took the eldest aside and persuaded him to take a ride out, for his sake.

Bringing their respective mounts, the second-born guided them south for a while until they met the flowing creek that led to Maedhros’ waterfalls farther down. At length, the time seemed appropriate for speech and Maglor began. “I think it is not that you and Kalin have _quarreled_ , else she would have told me… but what _has_ happened to make you become so indifferent to her? Do you not see how _miserable_ you have both grown to be?”

The flame-haired son dismounted wearily, as everything he seemed to do was filled with of late, and leaned upon a great tree with the weight of all Arda upon his shoulders. “Maglor, my curse cuts deeper than you can imagine. I saw… a _vision_ , of what I know will come to pass… I am too much horrified of it to share the description with anyone for my own grief.”

Maglor dismounted also and followed him to the giant tree. “Maedhros, by keeping silent you are causing _us_ grief. Mainly _Kalin’s_ if you would but look beyond your own hurts.”

The eldest turned brutally upon him. “It is for _her_ sake I am keeping it so! You know not what I conceal.”

“Then _tell_ me.” He countered, and his brother was again sobered by the information he withheld. They were silent a while longer before Maglor chose a different tactic. “Was it about Kalin?”

Maedhros turned to lean his back against the tree and passed a hand over his eyes. “No, not directly. It greatly affects us both, however.” He seemed to regain some little control and stood up. “If I tell her, it would only serve to cause tremendous pain. I will tell no one, only try to prevent it from ever occurring.” Resolute, he communicated his plan and Maglor planted fists at his sides.

“By ‘preventing’ it, you are not going to _leave_ or _neglect_ Kalin, are you?”

“No. Though that is what _should_ be done… I am too far-gone to abandon her and my only source of real life. No, I love her too greatly for that. There must be other ways of preventing my vision’s fruition.”

Thoughtfully, he stood staring with glazed eyes into the woods and was only disturbed in this when his brother’s grasp held his shoulder, a long, penetrating gray gaze meeting his when at last he turned. “I charge you to be careful with your elleth, my brother. She is too precious to be treated with the indifference you’ve dealt her these weeks.”

Maedhros’ eyes fell to the ground in shame. “Being near her only made worse the feeling of failure that already wracks my mind from what I have foreseen.”

“Maedhros…” The younger waited until he looked him in the eye. “What _did_ you see?”

Clearly unbidden, Maglor saw his stoic, hardened captain let loose a tear from one distraught emerald. “If… if such a thing should ever comes to pass… I shall tell you. _Only_ then.” The eldest then took a step toward his brother and took his arm with his only hand in a vice-like grip, soon releasing him to move toward his horse and mount up.

They returned late in the evening to a quiet fort, their two steeds making the only sounds among the dirt and gravel courtyard as the animals were put away and tended to. With a silent parting between he and his brother, Maedhros sought out his solace in Kalin’s direction and found the door to her chambers ajar, a muted glow of firelight escaping from the crack. Passing through it without trouble, he found the elleth draped delicately across the edge of her bed in slumber, the faint trail of earlier shed tears upon her face.

The flame-haired Noldo caressed a languid white curl against her neck and found within her loose fist the braid of his own hair that had been cut the evening they began their courtship. His smile could not be withheld at the memory of their first kiss on that rainy dawn. A deep breath and movement brought his gaze back upon her unconscious face and, carefully, he removed the braid from her hand and replaced it with some strands attached to his head, sitting to lean against the bed below her. Before long Maedhros felt her fingers moving to stroke the lock of auburn fire and he sighed at such a sincere feeling unknowingly missed.

“Where have you been?” Her soft voice inquired and he reached up to take the precious hand, pressing it to his lips.

“Away from _you_ … Forgive my neglect, mîr nin.”

Her hand lay agin his cheek in a loving manner and she faithfully responded. “You were forgiven before ever an offense was made. Has some peace found you? What has brought about this change?”

“I fear I will not attain true peace until I am certain that what was foreseen can never occur. But as to my change… I have made a resolution, one I intend to keep.”

 

A month saw Maedhros fully restored to spirits. Having resolved in his mind a course of direction, and having his eyes opened to what hurt he had done Kalin in keeping to himself renewed his realization that there was someone now in whom he could seek comfort and find solace. No longer was he free to sulk and fall into the despair of his dreams; but now claimed a reason to be happy, a person to nurture with love and _receive_ nurturing freely given. He could not now live without his jewel.

Mîrluiniel also, perceived this amendment and cherished each moment of his affection, for it seemed he gave it with _more_ of himself, as if he were no longer testing the waters. She was secure in his trust and his heart.

Soon it was decided that a surveying party needed organizing to peruse the Marches and take note of any changes in the land or tracks that were unusual for the area. Maedhros and his brothers were to be gone several weeks and both lovers lamented the parting from the hour it was planned. On the eve of his departure Maedhros took her on the western wall to watch Laurelin make her path down in the sky, an opportunity to spend time in one another’s company without distraction. Kalin leaned her back against him and wove her fingers with his absent-mindedly, studying the light scars that accented his skin along with the contrasting softness between fingers to calluses upon his knuckles.

“Kalin…” Maedhros broke her concentration reluctantly and she looked up to him with a tilt of her head in acknowledgement. “I will be away for some time… I want you to promise me you will not venture anywhere east. Not even north or south without an armed edhel accompanying you.” The free-spirited elleth made to protest, but was silenced by the look of consternation etching her lord’s face. He broke her gaze to hide his weakness. “I want no _harm_ to come to you, mîr nin. Please do this for me, it would ease my conscience greatly to know you are protected in my absence.”

She sighed and lifted his hand up for her to inspect once again, looking into his eyes after a moment’s silence. “Yes, I promise.” Finding him smiling with a relief she was happy to have given him, she watched him leaned down to reward her with a kiss that melted away every earlier opposition. While it melted her protests, the exchange also ignited ardor between them and the tall elf turned her in his grasp, cornering her up to the wall.

Impassioned, Maedhros kissed her neck fervently and moved to kneel before her, catching the maiden off guard. Her eyes questioned his, gleaming the more brightly when his hand took hers and held it between them. “Mîr nin, forgive me for all the times I have pulled my fëa from yours… I know now I never wish to leave your side in such a way. You know as well as I there is but one way that can ever be, and I would speak it before I depart.” His gaze dropped to her fingers and he took a breath before pressing them to his face. “I _love_ you, Kalin, I want you as my wife… if you would you marry me.”

Those emeralds faced the elleth now and the fragile hope in them brought tears to her eyes, falling softly with the movement of her dropping to her knees, also. “ _Yes,_ Maedhros… I would.” She watched disbelief wash over his expression before joy replaced it and his face erupted in a beautiful grin.

“I have never felt such fullness in me, not even in Aman. Mîr nin, how I love you… what can I do to prove and show you how much?”

Stroking his face gently, the maiden pulled closer in his arms and spoke. “Only promise you will return to me with no broken bones, no gashes, and _all_ of your heart.”

He smirked. “On the _last_ point, only, can I vow. The other two, my brothers must attest for.” Their kiss was deeper this time, and they moved only a breath away when parted. “My heart is irrevocably yours, Kalin, so long as you wish to keep it.” His declaration caressed her very fëa with the truth she knew filled every word.

Mîrluiniel wrapped her arms around his neck and buried a happily tear-stained face in his hair. “I will always cherish it.”

 

At dawn Maedhros stood situating gear upon his great horse while his brothers around him did the same, eager to begin the thorough trek they had planned. Mîrluiniel stood patiently an arm’s length away, watching her beloved and carving his handsome stature into her mind to remember each detail later on. The elleth’s fingers played with a tiny relic and drew her lord’s attention when at length he turned to her. “What have you here, dear one?” Her Noldo lover questioned the trinket as he drew favorably closer.

His lady’s fingers opened to reveal a small token of wood meticulously inlaid with the etched star of his house. “A favor I would have you hold as close to your heart as it’s been held to mine.” Kalin explained, using a soft voice tinged with the same emotion that filled his heart at their imminent parting.

As she placed it within his open palm his hand caught hers there and brought it up to his lips endearingly, emerald eyes holding her blue gems captive. “I promise to do so. And return with it, to you, mîr nin.” Murmuring devotedly, he brought her body close against his and embraced his betrothed, kissing her cheek and neck.

The lady’s breath trembled at his sensitive ear. “ _Maedhros_ … _I love you_.”

His steady hold only strengthened around her at such vulnerable words, proving silently that because she loved him in return he would protect her all the more. Softly in Quenyan, the prince’s deep voice uttered how deeply he loved her, that though it may be many months before his arms found her again, it would be that much closer to the time when she would never leave his embrace as his wife. He felt a tear on his neck and his hand moved up to cradle her head through nimble curls. “Please do not grieve, Kalin, I _will_ come back. And by Eru’s grace, you shall have me for a husband before a year passes.”

Mîrluiniel shuddered a breath until she could school her expression somewhat back to calm and pulled away to see her betrothed’s face, earning a smile and bestowing her own. “I shall pray so every night we cannot hold each other. I will miss you.” Her fair hand stroked up and down his strong arm cheerlessly.

“As will I, dear one.” Sweetly, his fingers caressed the softness of her face and dried away small traces of tears. Maedhros leaned just enough to taste of her lips and felt her mouth press harder until their kiss held half the fervency of their parting.

From a distance the second born of Fëanor's sons gazed on the scene with a heavy heart, at length forcing himself to mount his dappled bay mare resolutely. The tender moment Maglor had just been privy to was not his to have, nor ever would be… it was this fact that caused his immortal heart to feel the shadowed ache of mortality.

 

“She gave you her talisman?” Maedhros was awoken from his quiet reverie at Maglor’s gesture to the token he played with between sword-worn fingers.

The eldest smiled and nodded, handing it to his brother to look at. “It was her parting token for me.” He remembered fondly the summer morning he had bid farewell to his Sindarin jewel, missing her warmth now as the chill of winter crept into their camp upon the March.

Maglor stroked the emblem on it reverently, smiling sorely to note that Kalin’s same strokes were doubtless what had so smoothed the wood over time. “Celebrimbor made this for her, I recall.” He remarked absently before handing it back into his brother’s care. “Our nephew is sure to have grown in both stature and skill since last we saw the lad.”

“I’m certain he has. Kalin made mention some time ago that Curufin had begun taking him along to the forge. He is old enough, I suppose, to begin learning metal-work.” Such calm talk of family by the fire eased their troubled minds from increasing thoughts of wars, yrch, and the dark enemy who seemed to be feeling his way toward their new homeland. It was infrequent that the captain and his brothers talked of anything other than strategies, scout routes, and all that pertained to his march. But when they did it seemed to be silently agreed upon that the curly-headed elleth and her upcoming marriage to their brother was the most pleasant of topics.

After some peace and a sip each of the miruvor they had packed along, Maglor glanced over to his flame-haired kin again and smirked. “Have you thought of a wedding gift for her, yet, Russandol?”

“Alas, I’ve yet to find anything that would hold half the meaning I wish it to.” Maedhros sighed slightly and waited a moment before glancing up to his brother, intrigued. “What have you in mind, Kano?”

Shrugging, he grinned and explained. “It put me in mind when you said Celebrimbor had begun to learn metal-work… The boy means a great deal to Kalin, and the works of his hands clearly mean a great deal to her, as well.” Gesturing again to the trinket Maedhros held, he went on. “Have him inlay the sign of our house with mithril and put on a chain… So it would represent you, while the wood it is carved upon represents the love of her people. You must admit that such a thing would be lovely about her neck.”

“ _Any_ pendant would be beautiful about her neck.” Though his brother chided, the younger obliged him by conceding as he watched him mull the idea over. A few moments passed. “When spring has melted enough of the snow, I will travel to Himlad and see what merit your thoughts may have. It is a good idea, Kano, thank you.” Sharing a smile, the Maglor simply inclined his head, happy enough to have contributed.

 

Mîrluiniel spent her days often among the children of her friends within the fortress and in the forests west of Himring while she was parted from her betrothed, never letting him drift far from any thought. She could not help but worry for his safety, as she always did, but tried to console herself with the fact he had several brothers along to aide him if need arise. She trusted Maglor the most in this manner, and thanked the Valar on many nights for her friend and confidante. Kalin’s hope was that he would one day meet an elleth worthy of his care and nurturing affections. Maglor was a good and strong edhil and, had things been different, she would have loved him as truly as he loved her. As it was he would be a perfect brother-in-law and, Eru permitting, a loving _uncle_.

The elleth smiled to herself at such train of thought, she would love to make Maedhros a father. Mîrluiniel walked through the bordering woods of the keep, watching another layer of snow fall as she pulled the cloak tighter about her, thoughts of her beloved’s embrace warming her more than any fur could. With upturned face she let flakes float through the branches overhead and land in her snow-golden hair, whispering into the still of a wintry forest. “Illúvatar, hasten his way back to me.”


	14. Promises You Give

**Title:** Single Handedly

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Characters:** Maedhros/OFC

 **Time:** First Age 346 – Fourth Age

 **Chapter(s): 14** /?

**Chapter Summary:** _“Kalin… Mîr nin, we shall never part again, do you hear me?” His strength held her even closer and a beloved hand smoothed up her back and into the hair that glowed as bright as morning, mingling with the red strands of his own that burnt like a flame._

**Author:** Codi Lyn (a.k.a. i_luv_obiwan91)

 **Disclaimer:** J.R.R. Tolkien and his family are the sole owners of his works including the Silmarillion and his Lord of the Rings series. I’m just inspired by his works and thought of different ways for different things to end as another option. It’s his music; I’m just playing it on a ukulele, not a guitar. =]

 

 

Bundled in furs and linked arm in arm, Kalin and Remethiel moved in slow circuits within the keep’s protective walls. They sought to use the exercise to both coerce the child to come from one long dwelling and into another, and to take away the fever of keeping too long indoors against the north land’s winter season. By the Sindar blood in her veins Mîrluiniel knew it to be only days until spring, but the skies of her new home seemed not to agree, and content instead to layer another blanket of white upon any tracks of life leading to and from the fortress.

Her friend had almost reached her year in the common pregnancy of an elleth and showed it through the healthy swell her body had made to accommodate the soon-coming child. Remethiel had done well over the months of waiting and only steadied her constant bustle of activity now for the sakes of her vigilant husband and friend.

The pair of women stopped under an awning to watch the snowfall for a moment and the dark-haired companion huffed a laugh with a hand firmly holding her belly. “You know, I have heard of mortal women who will labor in their fields and crops, suddenly bear the child right where they stand, and then get right back to work with the babe tied about them to nurse.”

Kalin could not help but laugh and scoff at her sarcastic bemoaning of being forced into idleness at such an appropriate time. “They do not simply ‘plop’ it down and clean it off like any old mare, do they? I’m sure the women of Men are little different with their child-bearing than we are with ours, Remethiel.”

“Certainly a useful ability, though, wouldn’t you say?” Jibing her friend with a smirk that turned into joined giggling, the expecting woman began their walk again at an easy pace.

“Hardly anything to rejoice over! I would never dream of just _casually_ giving birth and then going on with my life as if all I had done was sneeze. What a notion!”

“Well, what _do_ you dream of, sweet lady?” Remethiel held both hands around Kalin’s arm and gave a wink that caused the elleth to blush crimson compared with the white surroundings.

“I dream of giving Maedhros children, yes. The gravity is not lost on me, however, that my own mother was taken in giving birth to me… I feel I still must be guarded in my hopes of motherhood.”

“You are a strong elf, my dear, as strong as any in Aman. If lady Nerdanel could bear _seven_ such sons as the lord Fëanor’s and be well, then I am sure you can survive it and more when the time comes.” The elder woman comforted the maiden and made to say something else on the subject when her expression changed and the hold on her friend’s arm tightened suddenly. “Kalin…”

“Remethiel? Are you—?”

“I need you to get Eäryendë. It’s time.” Tense with the pain of contraction, Remethiel tucked her head into Kalin’s shoulder and the younger led them back into the halls so they could begin the birthing. On their way, she flagged down Mornefindon and he hurried to help his wife into their rooms, speaking soothing words against her hair and holding the hand that squeezed his urgently.

Eäryendë came quickly to nurse the laboring woman at Kalin’s beckoning and they made her as comfortable as possible while Remethiel’s pains came more frequently. At length, there was not much more Kalin could truly help with and so left to gather the two daughters who now awaited another sibling.

“Naneth’s hurting.” Pilindiel spoke solemnly as she nestled against the elleth’s chest, holding her close.

Quickly, the elder came over to pat her sister’s hair gently, reassuring with confidence. “Yes, a little, Pili. But she hurt when you came, too, and she’s all right. It hurts some to have babies.”Dessuithiel sat next to Kalin and began to tell stories to help the elfling think of better things. Mîrluiniel smiled and simply stroked the girls’ hair as she watched the scene, praying silently for Elbereth to bless the child’s birth.

Mornefindon came in the outer room where the children were with Kalin and seated himself anxiously. Dessui hopped down from the elleth’s lap and trotted over to her atar’s, wisely saying nothing as she placed a kiss and hugged his waist. The elf’s look communicated his worry to Kalin and she hoped she returned it with one of assurance.

The children had long fallen asleep heaped together on a warm bed when the fragile wailing of a newborn roused them. Sweet exclamations heard from their parents and the nurse-women drew them into the hallway hand-in-hand and there they met Kalin who turned to them with a tired grin. “Come here, girls. Atar will call you in when your naneth is taken care of.” They huddled close to the elleth as she sat at their level and gently instructed how to act around their weakened naneth and the new baby.

“Dessui, Pili, come meet your little brother.” Mornefindon called his daughters into the chamber with them and Kalin watched the growing family draw close for the first time with its little addition.

 

“Such a _beautiful_ little lad, _aren’t_ you, Herenon? Yes, yes, my love.” Remethiel spoke sweetly to her son in the bath and smiled as his eyes watched her, attentive to his mother’s voice. Mîrluiniel watched the scene while propping her chin on her elbow and having her hair meticulously braided by two little girls. Her friend’s ease and joy in motherhood filled Kalin with calm and pleasant hope for her own future. The children weren’t perfect, but nor were the parents, and she found that patience could take you a league upriver without oars.

“Naneth, look at how beautiful Kalin is!” Pilindiel abandoned her work as soon as she was satisfied and rushed to her mother’s skirts. The elleth smiled on display with one half of her hair in exuberant knots while Dessuithiel still worked with concentration on her portion of hair that, though neater, was endearingly lop-sided.

Remethiel smirked in sympathy for her, and agreed with her youngest daughter. “She _is_ beautiful, my love. You have done your best work, yet, and when Dessui has finished I’m sure it shall be perfectly lovely. Lady Kalin is a very good elleth to let you two practice your styles upon her.” With a wink, the adults laughed good-naturedly and Pili hurried back to hug Kalin’s neck and deposit a charming kiss.

Through all the movement and jostling Dessui was still determined to complete her part of Kalin’s plaits, yet even she paused and perked up in silence so that they could all hear the elven horn sounding outside the gates. Mîrluiniel froze, certain of whose trumpet awakened the keep to their return. The elleth took her hair from the child’s hand with a sweet kiss of apology and rushed outside to climb the southern barricade.

With the sun shining brightly against all the snow, Kalin focused hard against the glare to see movement among the trees to the south. The noise of horses soon came within hearing and blows between the inbound company and Himring’s sentries signaled to open the gate. As they approached she made out that many of them wore hoods against the frosted wind, preventing her from finding her beloved’s red hair flaming among them. Reaching over the great stones of the wall, Mîrluiniel waved eagerly and was met by one rider’s answering wave. It was Maglor who smiled up at the maiden from his trotting mare.

Laughter bubbled lightly out of her chest, leaving a brief fog of breath before the elleth swiftly came down the steps to meet the brothers who would soon be her own. The great hound Huan trotted easily among the horses, nearly as tall, and panted almost with a smile as he looked about. As they entered the gate each elf lord removed the hoods that protected them, thus revealing Amrod, Amras, Caranthir, Celegorm, and Maglor… but the eldest was nowhere among the rest of their company.

With face fallen, Kalin came up to Maglor who quickly dismounted and perceived her distress as she queried him. “He is coming tomorrow? He is only following behind, yes?”

He held out his hands and took her forearms tenderly. “I am sorry, dear one, he comes perhaps in another month. We are instructed to make all the preparations for your marriage ceremony in anticipation of his arrival. Maedhros bade me swear to you—on his behalf— that the night of your wedding shall be that of his return, and not an hour past.”

The elleth made a valiant effort at seeming joyous again, but it was clear enough that she was bruised by such delay. Spring was stubbornly making its appearance by now, though not all the white had gone, but Mîrluiniel had dearly hoped it would not be so close to a year as was almost passed since her beloved would hold her again. More of her true smile came to light when a gentle kiss was laid upon her knuckles and Maglor’s encouraging eyes met her own. Something in his gaze changed to amusement as he looked her over, and she tilted her head. “What is it?”

Carefully, he brought forward a tangled lock of her ‘braided’ blonde hair and fingered a few of the knots away with a smirk. “Nothing, only that I think your hair is lovely.” Her laughter when she realized the mess she must look brought her color back and gave him great pleasure. “Whose little hands should I compliment for such pretty work?” A knowing smirk on his lips, the elf helped her to ease her curls out of bondage.

“Remethiel’s daughters. And you will soon see their newest child. Mornefindon will be proud to show you his son.”

“A son.” Maglor’s smile was thoughtful for a moment. “A blessing, indeed.” His expression was noticed by the maiden, but not in time to ask of it before a welcome voice and tail-wagging duo approached her.

“I knew you would do well here, but I did not expect to find you _even_ more beautiful than with us in Himlad!” Celegorm opened his arms and was met with a sweet embrace. “You are dearly missed among the encampment, but I think it may be some time before you visit again, aye? And a hard blow it will be for some of our men to find you taken in marriage! No matter that it be to our own princely brother.” With a fond wink for her, Celegorm was the first Fëanorian to meet her and by no means the last to be proud to soon have her for a sister.

“They must hold back their tears for me, or I might cry along with them! It is so good to see you. And where are Curufin and Celeb? Why have they not come?” Kalin jested in turn as Huan received her attention affably.

“Celebrimbor has the supervision of your betrothed, currently, and they shall return all together for your nuptials.”

“Maedhros is in Himlad?” Her eyes sought Maglor’s to confirm it, and he answered with a nod. So close her beloved chose to be, yet still to remain parted for another month. Mîrluiniel could not suppress the worry that began knot itself within her.

“Come, lovely lady!” Ambarussa—Amrod, perhaps—called out to her and he with his brother gaily approached, each embracing her affectionately. “Inside we must go, for there are ship-loads of things to prepare for your wedding.”

“And our journey has made us hunger for good food and better company than this hoard of dull brothers.” Amras took her by the waist and hand to lead them back to the main hall, laughing lightly as he gestured to the rest of the Noldo lords following behind.

 

That evening, after a warm reception for the lords’ return and some talk of general plotting for the wedding, Mîrluiniel dismissed herself and wrapped warmly to see the stars. Huan had left his master’s fire to follow, and at her side they ascended the stairs upon the battlements. “I have missed you, my friend, you were always a comfort to me.” Softly, she praised the dog and rubbed his neck and ears as he leaned against her. She remembered how Maedhros’ hound Taurvantian had been good for her while he yet lived, and Kalin could not quell the guilt of his death while sought to protect her. The large canine pushed his head into her arms and the elleth smiled, knowing what feelings he could sense.

“Have you been quite well, my lady?” Turning, Kalin faced the speaker to find Caranthir in his dark robes drawing near. Amidst black hair and the moon-less night, he was sufficiently difficult to be seen, even for elven sight.

Huan’s tail ceased its movement, but Kalin smiled politely at the warrior. “Well enough, I thank you.”

“You do not worry for my brother, now that he delays?” The question took her off-guard, and the Noldo took a step closer.

“Of course I worry… though my concern may not be of the sort you’re implying.” She stood straighter now, feeling almost defensive.

“It hurts, does it not? Not knowing.” His expression was not victorious, but nor was it genuine.

Kalin steeled herself, not wishing to exchange barbs of conflict. “I suppose it does. Those things of _significance_ , however, I know very well.” Their dialogue simmered for a moment. “How are your vassals in Thargelion? The lady Haleth keeps well her people, I hear, though she has chosen not to take part in your lands.”

The mention obviously held its sting, and a brief flash of pain—perhaps wounding pride more than heart—showed in his countenance before bitterness revealed itself. “Well enough. I suppose the wench has settled by now, off to _your_ dark woods in Doriath.” Caranthir’s off-handed insult made the elleth pale, fearing what he had heard, and what he might do. “Thingol granted the squatters a deal to the west, in Brethil, and so they watch over Teiglin’s waters.” The elf’s face darkened as he brooded, almost giving Kalin pause for pity that perhaps his offer which the mortal woman had refused might have been genuine.

Kalin’s thoughts hovered on whether he truly knew her identity, or if the mere mention of geography was all the jab he had meant to inflict by knowing her lack of Noldor blood. Glancing sidelong at her now, Caranthir quirked his lips in a smile, giving her discomfit. “Maedhros may be delaying your blessed union to determine where your loyalties lie. Perhaps the thought of a _Sindar_ warming his bed has turned his stomach.” As he spoke Huan took a step toward him and lowered his head in unheeded warning. His words were like droplets of poison flung at her belly, slowly eating into her with the guile in them.

“ _Caranthir._ ” Maglor’s strong voice came from behind her and Kalin immediately turned away, allowing the noble elf to defend her. “You offend a lady soon to hold higher status than your own—though by her conduct she has already surpassed you. Take your drunkenness away from here, and your dishonor with you!” Standing firmly between his brother and the maiden, Maglor’s authority gave his warning a solid foundation worthy of fear. The younger son sniffed with an ill-formed pride and turned away as commanded, striking out angrily at a torch that clattered against the gravel courtyard in his wake.

Unmoving until he was certain of his brother’s direction, Maglor then turned with protective concern upon the elleth and reached out to hold her hand. “Mîrluiniel, forgive me. Are you all right? He has given you great distress.”

Feeling the comfort of his touch, she went willingly to his embrace and took a rattled breath. “Thank you, Maglor.”

“Of course… of course. I am sorry you will have such a _cur_ for a brother.” Maglor stroked her arms through the furs she wrapped in and held her close against him. Her warmth was perhaps too great a pleasure for the elf, and in resignation he pulled away so that he might see her face. Tears had not fallen, but from brushing aside wind-tossed curls Maglor could perceive the glisten in her eyes that belied her upset. “Tell me you do not believe his words, dear one?”

“No.”

Maglor sighed. “I fear I must warn you, that this bitter taste may come again—and more violently—to taint yours and Maedhros’ love. Our father’s house is not kindly looked upon, even with Maedhros’ efforts at reconciliation. Your sweet Sindar blood could be soured by mixing with ours, and it is very likely you will have to defend your decision to wed my brother.”

Obediently silent as he spoke, Kalin nodded at his pause. “I know, and I have not neglected to think of this.”

“You have an earnest husband who will always consider you too good for him. Indeed, you are certainly too good for the lot of us.” Affectionately, he kissed her cheek and pressed a hand to the small of her back to lead them back to the keep.

Before they had come half way down the stairs Mîrluiniel pressed the hand that held hers and stopped them beside a torch, letting Huan trot off and back to his master. She said nothing for a moment, but Maglor was patient and waited for her time. When she spoke, it was so softly that he was glad for the small fire’s light to know it was her lips and not the wind that whispered. “Maglor, why does he wait?”

He felt a physical pain at seeing her so disappointed, wishing for her sake that Maedhros had just come with them so that she might have all her joy. This distress he sensed in her made him ill. “He delays for your honor, Mîrluiniel. A year’s engagement is proper, and already you will be wed before that time has fully come to pass.” Her white hair blew as the maiden shook her head. It was not merely that, and she knew it. Willing to do anything to console her, Maglor moved to touch her face and bring those eyes back to him. “If you could have seen the longing on your beloved’s face at every moment for you… Mîrluiniel, he desires you to be his wife more righteously than I have ever seen him want anything.”

“And what of your oath? His desire for me is stronger than that of three jewels?” The question was not intended to bite, but struck him hard as he empathized most deeply with his brother’s position on that account.

“The Silmarilli he longs for, yes. He wants to claim them, as is _right_ … But he does not _love_ them, Mîrluiniel. He may even hate them. Indeed, what have they brought but wrath and evil, even though they be made with the light of the Trees?” His face darkened further, even in the relief of the torch, but then he turned to her once more and Kalin saw the stars reflect in his eyes. “And you, born of the trees and made of gentle flesh… You have brought only love and light forth from your tender heart.” Lithe fingers wiped away the tear that had fallen upon her blessed cheek, but stilled when she came close to the elf and pressed an earnest kiss to his cheek before hugging him once more.

“I wish you were my brother.” Murmured against his cloak, her words were muffled, but they seemed spoken straight to his heart so that it trembled under the weight of them.

“I will be, dear one. I will.”

 

“Maedhros… It is yet night, where do you go?” Her voice was soft with sleep and his wife’s eyes peered at him, enlarged by the darkness of their rooms.

 _The elf leaned over to press his hand lovingly at her waist and kiss those tired eyes. “Only to check on her.” His answer calmed her and she laid back her head to wait for him. Maedhros’ feet padded without sound to the crib by their west-facing window. There, with gentle curves and snowflake lashes, lay his daughter sleeping peacefully unaware of her father’s protective gaze. The child was perfect because she belonged to Kalin, and he was blessed for she would soon call him_ Atar _._

“Our little one is well, it is your wife who needs you, Maedhros.” The beauty there waiting for him beckoned tenderly and he turned from their baby to attend the sweet needs of his beloved.

His first waking moments felt as though he were already with her, his betrothed. The sounds of elves packing belongings and moving about soon reminded him that it was yet to be… but _would_ be. Maedhros smiled. Today, he left for home and the beautiful elleth who waited to be his wife. Celebrimbor had indeed grown in stature and skill and, though nervous, had wrought the mithril perfectly with his Uncle’s contribution for Kalin’s wedding gift. The Fëanorian reached over and took the talisman that would soon lay about his wife’s neck, caressing the smooth metal that bore the emblem of his house on one side, and tracing the engraved wood upon the other which read their names together in Quenyan. It rested on a fine-woven chain of mithril that he had taught Celeb to forge and piece together, long enough to rest its pendant upon the wearer’s heart, and Maedhros lifted the necklace to put over his head. Before Laurelin’s setting tomorrow, he would have _his jewel_ in his arms again.

 

Rúnyadal pranced as Maedhros held him back at the gates of Himring, allowing his company to pass them by and enter while Ambarussa rushed out to meet him. “Maitimo! You’re late, we expected you days ago.” There was a jovial reproach from Amras, while his brother came to hold the stallion’s bridle.

“True, _we_ expected you. But your poor bride has been in torment waiting much longer.” Amrod’s jibe stung a little more.

“Where is she?” Maedhros looked over the heads of the elves riding inside but could find no bright curls to greet him.

“With the snow melt your precious wood elf has taken to the forests again.”

“She went on her own west of the keep this morning and is not yet returned.” The twins informed him and Amrod released Rúnya’s head, grinning as their brother’s charge galloped off into the woods west of his home. “Be back by nightfall, or you’ll miss your own wedding!” With a laugh they called after him before the trees obscured him from view.

Winter’s quiet siege had defeated the green of last year’s growth and gave Maedhros clear sight through the forest, granting him view of all but what a few evergreens could conceal. The great horse’s motion was straight and swift, giving leave for his master to turn about and around them in search for the maiden he sought. At length the clouds parted and the sun’s descent painted more beautiful and varied colors through the sky and on earth. It was this light that enhanced a golden-white head gleaming on a body dressed in grey and furs. Maedhros dismounted when the steed was still at a trot and came to her through long strides, her name spoken breathlessly on his lips.

“Maedhros?” That beautiful head turned to him and Mîrluiniel hastened to his arms without a thought to temperance or tradition. He was _home_. She felt like she wanted to cry, but laughter fled from her throat and brightened their eyes as they neared.

The elleth was pulled into him at once, her neck a tender resting place for his head to fall in relief, breathing her in like a healing vapor. “Kalin… _Mîr nin_ , we shall never part again, do you hear me?” His strength held her even closer and a beloved hand smoothed up her back and into the hair that glowed as bright as morning, mingling with the red strands of his own that burnt like a flame. With desperation and resolve he begged of her, feeling that now nothing could part them but that their spirits would always be one.

“ _I hear you._ ” She gasped through the emotions coursing through her and clung to him, stroking his hair and letting her doubts recede to allay her. “Maedhros do not torture me with your absence again. When you lingered, I… my thoughts flew to every worry.” Her tears came quietly as now he spoke low and lovingly to her in Quenyan, soothing his beloved and assuring her of his devotion.

At last he pulled away from her to look long upon the precious elleth whom he loved. ‘What a queen she would have made.’ The Noldo could not help but think as he admired her, this woman could fill any role, so full of grace and humility was she. Maedhros allowed her arms to bring him to her in their gentle strength and laid his lips upon hers, worshipping and adoring his bride. “I have something for you.” He murmured and smiled at her calm, seeing that she was just as content to have him, alone. Loosing his hand from her hair, Maedhros reached down his shirt and pulled a glistening strand over his head to present to her. “It is a promise kept, and another I would make to you.” As his hand opened, he explained, revealing the mithril and wooden pendant that represented their union.

“’ _Maedhros Nelyafinwë, husband to Kalin, his wife and Jewel_.’ You inscribed it in Sindarin?” Reading the engraving so beautifully detailed in the wood, Kalin looked up at him and beamed.

“I commissioned Celebrimbor to help me. And yes, I thought to honor you with the tongue of your people, though now you become a princess among Noldor.” The smile that blossomed upon her face took hold of his heart, and he watched as she caressed the metal in his palm and studied it.

“Will you put it on me?” Her request was sweet and, parting the soft fur from about her shoulders, Maedhros lovingly laid the delicate chain about her neck and grazed with his fingers the soft flesh that it touched. Upon such a long chain, the token rested beneath the neckline of her dress and was cool against the warmth of her skin, an intimate gift that would always remind her of his touch.

“Kalin, I swear to you that no other love shall possess me as that of my love for you—yours has taken hold and will not let me go. I belong to you, and soon you shall belong to me… mîr nin, my wife.”

When sunset’s beams began to fall lower, the couple mounted Rúnyadal’s willing back and made for the fortress. In cheers and laughter were they welcomed within, but soon taken apart to ready themselves for the ceremony and feasting. Friends surrounded Mîrluiniel and dressed her in maiden’s white, beautiful shifts and flowing gowns tied with silk ribbons at her waist, a silver circlet was laid upon her curls and then a crown of young branches all budded with spring’s first leaves. Maglor, fitting him in well-suited black garments and mithril chains of nobility, helped Maedhros to dress formally as would befit a lord of Noldor.

Out upon the great courtyard fires had been lit and flags of the house of Fëanor hung high with banners of white all around in the evening’s breeze. In the midst of his people Maedhros stood waiting for his bride, seeing the elves part as gracefully the elleth made her way towards him. Kalin _glowed_. A smile as bright as day shone on her face and her kind eyes landed sweetly upon all present until she came within sight of the bridegroom. Though that smile faltered, it was to awe and love that sobered it, her eyes still keen and joyful as they came closer. Maedhros looked every bit the king he was born to be. No circlet graced his brow, but with gleaming medallions chained over his chest and shoulders, a detailed belt across his waist and his powerful sword on his hip, there was no doubting this noble lord to be descended from Finwë. Every move she made was observed through his eyes like a bird of prey, firelight making the emeralds sparkle with their flickers.

Maedhros reached for her hand reverently as she came to him, her bracelet of woven red buds brushing against his cheek when he laid a kiss upon her trembling fingers. Beneath Elbereth’s stars, those beloved lights of the Sindar, they bound their fëar in solemn oaths before the Valar and Illúvatar himself. As Mîrluiniel kissed her husband for the first time the elves of Himring burst into clapping, laughter, and song, keeping the music ongoing even as morning approached. The feast was heightened even from that of the festivals before, every elf and his lady happier than dancing and song could express for the union of their lord and new bride.

Maedhros took the first dance and led her perfectly, kissing her when they drew close and holding her firmly, different than their dance at the spring festival before. She belonged to him now, and there was no hesitance. The next was all ladies, women gathering Kalin to them and circling about her as they sang a song of love. Their tenderness endeared the elleth more to them greatly, and it was from here that Celebrimbor came to claim his dance with the woman, laughing, skipping and weaving with other couples. The growing young elf was now to her shoulders in height and becoming a very handsome boy, though Kalin could never see him beyond the little elfling who hid under her blankets.

The couple sat at the banquet table to rest and partake a very little of the quite large meal set out before them. Maedhros kept her close against his side, his right arm ever about her waist while he sipped on wine and watched her enjoy herself. A gaze was never shared but that they claimed a kiss along with it, delighting in each other and the fact that all was well, that this was right. As Kalin watched the dances and accepted the jovial well wishes of loyal elves, Maedhros would nuzzle her hair and whisper Quenyan into her ear, bringing color to her cheeks until she felt she must look painted with rouge.

At the height of the celebration Kalin spied Maglor making his way to their table, a calm, satisfied smile upon his face. “Brother, would you do me the honor of relinquishing your wife for one dance before I advise you to discreetly steal her away?” With a chuckle, the eldest kissed her and let loose his hold so that the elleth might rise to take Maglor’s hand. Pulling her fittingly close, the warrior looked kindly upon his new sister and held her hand delicately. “I have met no queen of Arda who could match your beauty tonight, Mîrluiniel. You deserve all this happiness and more.”

“Thank you, Maglor. Your praise is too high…”

“Not high enough, but I do what I can to please you, dear Princess.” Her eyes lowered modestly but with a stern brow, Maglor lifted her chin. “No. No more of that, my lady. You bear a different title now—one of honor, though you will have to defend it—and you do not bow your head in deference unless you are before the Valar themselves. No matter what your husband or brothers have done, _you_ will always be worthy of respect and distinction.” His eyes were earnest and truthful, not letting sweet words belie the reality of his advice, and it was appreciated.

Mîrluiniel’s back straightened with poise and she addressed him gratefully. “You are good for me, Maglor. I will always listen to your counsel.”

She was happy to see his fond expression return and her new brother leaned in to press a warm kiss against her cheek. “I hope it will always be worth the listening.” The second-born prince took her by the hand and led her off the dance floor though the song had not finished, passing through the couples with little fuss until Kalin laughed in soft surprise to see Maedhros waiting in the dark outside the celebrations. Her husband smiled at her and shared a look of understanding with his brother before the young elleth was brought inside the keep and led for the first time to a chamber she would now share.

“No long goodnights to your people?” Kalin teased him as he shut and locked their great door and she meandered toward the well-tended fire.

“I have only one long goodnight I wish to make.” He answered simply and stared at her admiringly from his slow approach, unfastening his shoulder cloak with practiced fingers before laying it over a chair. “Come to me, mîr nin.” Maedhros beckoned quietly and watched beguiled as she obeyed to stand before him. The crown of leaflets was carefully removed and the circlet soon followed it to release her hair, allowing his long fingers to play in those curls affectionately. “I do not deserve you.” This murmur held no self-loathing, instead only adoration for his new bride.

“Nor I, you.” Kalin’s feminine hand spread over the chains he wore and then moved to his neck where she could touch that strong jaw. “I love you, Maedhros.” The response she received from those lips was unutterable and would remain unmatched.


End file.
